


time reaches glory and the artist, infinity

by princessofthorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofthorns/pseuds/princessofthorns
Summary: Margaery is an ambitious ballerina, Sansa is a talented painter.And since first meeting, their relationship is surrounded by art in seven different forms.Title
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 42
Kudos: 123





	1. Music

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! Just want to give a heads up before you start: in this story, Westeros is kind of... part of our world. Like an eighth continent, or something like that.
> 
> Have a good read!

“Excuse me, what is that?”, Margaery asked the waiter, pointing at the third option of the menu. “How do you say it, _co-ccinha_?”

“ _Coxinha_!”, he replied, giggling. “It’s a very popular Brazilian snack. It’s a fried dough shaped around shredded chicken meat. It’s quite good, you should try it.” 

“Alright then, I’ll have one.” It was Margaery’s first time at that new Brazilian bar, _Bossa_ , two blocks away from her apartment. She didn’t know the first thing about Brazilian culture, aside from the fact that they had an impressive passion for football and liked... _samba_? Is that what that music style was called? Oh, and the huge Jesus with his arms opened at the top of a hill in Rio de Janeiro. She knew that too. Not that that was particularly linked to the country’s culture, but still.

It was Friday night and _all_ of her friends were inconveniently traveling for the weekend, or on date nights with their boyfriends/girlfriends/fiancés/sex-buddies, or in bed having to rest well for their wrestling competition on the next day - like Loras was doing. And Margaery was exhausted, after an intense week, both mentally and physically. But she wanted, no, she _needed_ to celebrate.

Because after three months, she had gotten the part. After three _exhausting_ months of training, auditioning and repeating, of sacrificing her sleep and social life, she had gotten the part of Queen Rhaenys at the Three Heads of the Dragon ballet, the most famous and traditional Westerosi ballet ever. And she’d gotten the most important role. Okay, the most important role one could actually audition for, since the other female head of the dragon, Queen Visenya, was always played by Cersei Lannister. The woman had begun studying at the King’s Landing Ballet after moving to the city from Casterly Rock when she was thirteen - a _long_ time ago - and was now working there as one of the teachers. Many people said she was too old to keep performing (and in terms of age she normally would be), but everyone would shut the fuck up whenever she started dancing. You couldn’t argue with _that_. She was amazing, and if she weren’t the greatest bitterest bitch Margaery had ever met, she would definitely be her inspiration. She kind of was a little bit.

But anyway, Margaery needed that celebration. And if none of her friends could join her, she might as well go alone to the new pretty bar, try some new foods and listen to some new music all by herself.

“Will you have a big one or a portion with six small ones?” The nice waiter asked.

“A portion. And what do you suggest for a drink? A Brazilian typical, please. And by drink I mean alcohol.” Tonight wasn’t the night for some of Brazil's national juice.

“Caipirinha. It’s a cocktail, made of cachaça, lime, and sugar. Cachaça is a sugarcane hard liquor.”

“I’ll have that, thank you very much.”

The waiter left, and Margaery looked around the bar. It was cute, one of the walls covered with postcards from multiple Brazilian cities; beaches everywhere, but also some images of dunes, waterfalls, the Christ Margaery was already familiar with, and large busy avenues she guessed represented São Paulo. The other wall was filled with photographs of what she assumed were Brazilian artists - probably musicians, actors, painters. The silent television was on a newcast she’d never seen before, and she figured it was probably the Brazilian news. A little far from where she was, five big pictures were hanging on the wall, each one showing a different football player raising a cup. It was noticeable that there was a long period between each photo was taken.

She leaned back on her seat, sighing while memories of the day started coming back to her. She had been stretching on a mat when she’d heard the squeals and turned to see the girls gathered around the wall. She’d known what it was at that exact moment. Her hands had been slightly when she stood up and made her way towards where the girls were in quick steps, but before she could get there Cersei’s voice called her to her office. She couldn’t stop replaying Cersei’s facial expression when she’d told her how pleased she was that her _Little Queen_ \- the endearing nickname she had given Margaery, the one she would always bite away from a smirk whenever saying it - had gotten the _second_ most important part of the ballet. How relieved that the one girl who would certainly not embarrass her had won it, how she was sure Margaery fully knew what she had signed up for and would most definitely give all of herself and more for the success of _her_ production.

Remembering that conversation, Margaery felt an urge to get back home, have a good nine hours of sleep, wake up in the morning and go straight to the studio to practice. She was a perfectionist by nature, but Cersei’s condescending tone and irritating grin had a way of elevating that on her. But no - she needed that night off. Overstraining herself was not the way to go if she wanted to be _perfect_ six months from now when the production would take place. And Gods, she _needed_ to be perfect.

Because that’s what she had been dreaming of since she was four years old - most precisely, since the moment her grandmother gave her a birthday gift box that she’d opened to find a small pair of ballet slippers inside. She’d started to take the dance classes two days later and the moment she’d stepped into the school would always be the one Margaery would immediately think of whenever she heard the expression _love at first sight_. Because that’s what it had been. She could hardly remember anything from such an early childhood, but that specific moment kept coming back to her, two decades later, as a quick, aggressive and welcoming image ingrained in her mind, as was the feeling in her chest. She had fallen in love with the dance from the very first second. With the outfits, with the teachers, with the movements, with the music. That had been twenty years ago and Margaery had been just a kid, but even now, every time she went on stage she felt the same thing. The rush, the excitement, but also the warm and _secure_ feeling that ensured she was doing exactly what she was born to do.

The sound of someone testing a microphone drove her out of her thoughts, and she turned her head to see a man, around his fifties, sitting on a small bench with an acoustic guitar. Next to him, a woman, probably in her thirties, standing in front of another microphone.

While they were getting their things ready, the waiter came back with her order. The _coxinha_ had this teardrop shape and _Gods_ , it was good. The caipirinha was a little too bitter for her taste, but by the fourth sip she was used to it.

“ _Olá_ , _boa noite_. Good evening, everybody!” The female singer said, smiling widely. Some of the clients answered, and with no further introduction the two of them started singing.

“É o pau, é a pedra, é o fim do caminho

É um resto de toco, é um pouco sozinho

É um caco de vidro, é a vida, é o sol

É a noite, é a morte, é um laço, é o anzol

É peroba no campo, é o nó da madeira

Caingá candeia, é o matita-pereira

É madeira de vento, tombo da ribanceira

É o mistério profundo, é o queira ou não queira

É o vento ventando, é o fim da ladeira

É a viga, é o vão, festa da ciumeira

É a chuva chovendo, é conversa ribeira

Das águas de março, é o fim da canseira”

They both would sing together, basically reversing the lines of the song. Margaery didn’t understand _anything_ they were saying, but something about that song was stimulating. She didn’t know if it was the way he was playing the guitar, pulling the strings lightly with his fingers instead of playing it roughly with a pick. Or the chord shapes he would do with his left hand, using way more fingers than her friends would use when they played their country or rock music. 

Both of them were singing in a lower tone than singers normally used. It was almost like they were having a conversation while singing it, and it made Margaery feel somewhat relaxed. Okay, maybe that had to do with her drink. But her right leg was moving with the song and the light energy exhaled by the music made her smile a little bit.

“It’s really nice, isn't it?” Margaery turned her head to see a gorgeous girl sitting alone at a table next to hers, probably around her age, with long red hair and big blue eyes. She was smiling brightly at her as if she was enjoying the fact that Margaery was enjoying the music.

“Yeah”, Margaery smiled politely, “Are you familiar with it?”

“Yes! Well, kind of. I came here last week with my sister. She was in town for the weekend, and from what I’d heard this place seemed nice. And the music? _Oh, my Gods_! When I came home that night I spent about three hours searching more about this style of Brazilian music. It was a pain to wake up the next day, but I couldn’t complain.” She said all of that with such a cute enthusiasm, Margaery couldn’t help but giggle fondly.

It wouldn’t be the first time a stranger started a conversation with her in a bar, and the possibility of it happening tonight, when Margaery was all by herself, hadn’t escaped her mind. And in all honesty, it wasn’t like she _wanted_ to be there alone - she was given the circumstances. She most definitely wouldn’t mind some company, and Margaery found herself pointing at the empty chair next to hers. “Well, take a seat and tell me the results of this search of yours.”

She actually seemed surprised by Margaery’s offer, but stood up smiling and took it anyway. 

“Well”, she started while sitting, “this is Bossa Nova. You know, like the name of the bar. This style is a result of some kind of evolution Samba, you know, the most famous Brazilian music style, went through in the 40s and 50s. It’s like Samba, but with heavy influences of jazz, classical music and modern literature. Bossa Nova doesn’t require as many instruments as Samba does, but it’s more… Well, complicated? I don’t know the first thing about musical theory, but it’s like, the chords have more, uh, notes. Or something like that. Bossa is also a more elitist music wave, while Samba has its origins in dance parties thrown by African slaves. I’m only mentioning these two, but Brazil has many more popular music styles. _Choro_ , _forró_ , _funk_ from Rio de Janeiro…”

When she stopped talking she frowned a little bit as if she was realizing she had been talking too much, and Margaery smiled.

“If someone told me I would go to a Brazilian bar and the one person who would try to teach me about Brazilian music would be a Westerosi, I wouldn’t believe it.” She smirked, and the other girl gave a small laugh.

“Yeah, well. I was always a normal fan of music, but ever since listening to that, my interest in the matter has increased a lot.” She smiled, “If only a week ago someone told me I’d be reading anything about harmony, nylon string guitars, and syncopation, I wouldn’t believe it too.” 

“É um passo, é uma ponte, é um sapo, é uma rã

É um belo horizonte, é uma febre terçã

São as águas de março fechando o verão

É a promessa de vida no teu coração”

The song came to an end and everyone started applauding.

“How about you?” the girl asked, “What kind of music do you like?”

“Classical. I listen to Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev and Minkus more than it’s healthy.” She couldn’t help a chuckle when the girl raised one of her eyebrows in an expression that suggested that it was hard to believe. “But I listen to a lot of other things too, rock music is one of my favorites. I love David Bowie, and Eric Clapton, fuck, I love him. I have a poster of the _Slowhand_ cover in my bedroom, back at home.” Nostalgia filled Margaery for just a second when she remembered those days in her childhood and teenage years, the ones she used to spend locked in her bedroom, listening to a kind of music that was completely different from the classic compositions she listened to every day in practice. 

“And where is home?” The redhead asked.

“Highgarden. I moved here six years ago to study. Six years of cold weather, bad wine and two hours in traffic a day. I love it here,” she smiled. “What about your home?”

“Winterfell. I’ve been living here for three years, I came to college too. And it makes me laugh that you’d think this place is cold.” The redhead quirked her eyebrows.

“Tough, are we?” Margaery teased. “My aunt’s husband is from Bear Island, he spent one summer in Highgarden and wished to never leave. Said it was good to finally see the blue of the sky.”

The girl made a dismissive gesture and pointed to Margaery’s chest, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of those in the North”.

Margaery looked down at her cleavage and back to the girl’s amused face. “Don’t let it distract you too much from the music you came here so desperate to listen to.”

The girl chuckled and took a sip of the beverage Margaery hadn’t realized she had in her hand. It was a green can Margaery had never seen before, and she looked closer to read the name. 

“ _Guaraná_ ”, The girl noticed her curiosity. “It’s a soft drink. Want some?” She handed the can.

It was sweet and much easier to drink than caipirinha, and Margaery ended up taking more than one sip.

“Vai minha tristeza

Diz a ela

Que sem ela não pode ser

Diz-lhe numa prece que ela regresse

Porque eu não posso mais sofrer

Chega de saudade

A realidade é que sem ela não há paz, não há beleza

É só tristeza e a melancolia

Que não sai de mim não sai de mim, não sai”

The couple started singing again, and the girl next to Margaery said, happily, “Oh, I know this one. It’s pretty famous, uh -”, she placed her phone on the table where both could look at it and opened Spotify. “Here! "Chega de Saudade", by João Gilberto. He was one of the pioneers of Bossa Nova.”

The girl then proceeded to show Margaery the playlist she had made with dozens of Brazilian songs, taking her time to tell her what she knew about some of the singers and songwriters. 

The rest of the night passed quickly and delightfully. That girl was utterly interesting, to say the least. They talked a lot more about music but somehow changed the subject to where they were from again. Jokes aside, the girl really missed the Winterfell snow, December just wasn’t the same in King’s Landing. Margaery told her she just missed _hearing_ the southern accent, and every time she and her brother saw each other she would feel at home by just listening to him talk.

They talked about hobbies, and the girl said she liked to go to the movies in her free time. Margaery said she liked to go to bars, restaurants, coffee shops, anywhere she could sit and talk to her friends. Sometimes, just sit and talk to strangers, and the redhead laughed in the cutest way at that.

They talked about what they liked to watch, the girl being into reality shows (“ _that’s futile_ ”) and Margaery liking sitcoms (“ _that’s dumb_ ”). They talked about places they wanted to meet in Westeros, she wanted to go to Oldtown and Margaery wanted to visit the Wall (“ _I'd like to see that_ ”). They talked about places they wanted to know outside Westeros, she wanted to go to Brazil (" _no shit_ ") and Margaery wanted to go to Spain (“ _go in July, even their winters would be too much for you_ ”).

They talked so much, and Margaery just didn’t feel the time passing.

“Tristeza não tem fim

Felicidade, sim”

The couple ended one more song but, after this one, they said their goodnights and started gathering their things. That’s when Margaery realized the bar was much emptier than it had been a couple of hours ago, and some of the waiters had even started cleaning up.

“Wait, it’s closing?” Margaery asked, checking her watch. It was past midnight, and she’d arrived at the bar at 20h45.

“I guess so”, the girl tilted her head in Margaery’s direction, “Where do you live?”

“You just turn left when you leave, go straight and then turn left again after two blocks.”

“I’ll go with you.” She offered.

“There’s really no need.” Margaery, while gesturing for the waiter. 

“No, no. I’ll have to request an Uber, I can just do it when we get to your building.”

“Are you sure?”

The girl smirked at Margaery, “Who would I be if I let a delicate southern like yourself walk alone in a dark night like this one?”

“We are in the South, even if not the best South”, Margaery opened her purse to get her wallet, “And all nights are dark.” She teased and turned smiling for the waiter who had just arrived with their bills.

They stood up after paying and left the place. The night was cold, as it always was, but when she looked at the girl she didn’t seem bothered at all.

She noticed Margaery’s attention and teased, “Don’t look so surprised. I _have_ spent the whole evening telling you how much you don’t know what real cold is.”

Margaery smirked and touched her arm. Her skin was surprisingly warm, and she shivered just a little when Margaery ran her fingers from her elbow to her shoulder. 

Her eyes were a bit wide when she followed the movement and her cheeks were slightly flushed, and Margaery winked at her, “I guess I don’t.” She slowly moved her gaze from her and started to walk, noticing it took a small moment before the girl began to follow her pace.

They kept silent during the whole path, and Margaery was _thinking_. Gods, when she’d left her apartment earlier she hadn’t been expecting _that_. A cute girl, no, a stunning girl, smart as hells and with whom Margaery had had one of the most interesting… first meetings ever. She’d had more fun that night than she’d had on many dates, that was for sure. Okay, most of her dates were a lot _faster_ than that night had been - it was usually the same small talk until they settled on whose house they would go to. Margaery didn’t have anything against a more… slow or serious thing, but usually the physical attraction was too strong for Margaery to wait until the next date, and after they were finished Margaery just didn’t feel any need to see the person again. After the end of her last relationship, over three years ago, Margaery hadn’t felt the need for a stronger connection with anyone, even though she’d been on more dates than she could count. And it wasn’t even trauma or anything like that, she and her ex had ended in excellent terms, and Margaery was over it _fairly_ quickly. She just didn’t _feel_ it.

She glanced at the girl, whose aspect was a little bit more serious than it had been before, but just as pretty. Was there any chance this night could end the same way Margaery’s date nights usually ended? 

And the girl was just so _nice_. In a teasing yet kind way. Perhaps with her Margaery could even _feel_ that need, that need to have something more, that she hadn’t felt in so long.

When they arrived at her building, the girl grabbed her phone and started calling her ride. 

“Hey”, Margaery started, “I had a great time tonight. A much better time than I thought I would, that’s for sure.” She admitted with a smirk.

“Yeah, uh… me too”, she answered, without meeting Margaery’s eyes.

For a second she felt confused and took a moment to notice how the girl’s expression seemed to have shifted from the beaming look she’d had all evening. Not only was she avoiding Margaery’s gaze, but she also sounded a bit off and had distanced herself from Margaery while they were walking. 

Knowing better than to read too much into body expressions on people she’d met four hours earlier, Margaery offered, “Do you want to go upstairs? Get some coffee, or anything?”

Her eyes widened and she took more than one step back. “Why?” She asked, while blushing deeply.

Trying to push away the discomfort she’d felt when the girl literally, physically moved away from her, Margaery said, “Well… for us to talk more? I -”

“I have a boyfriend. A _boy_ friend,” she interrupted her, in a much more serious tone than she had used the whole night. And the look in her eyes was unmistakable. 

A _boy_ friend. The way she’d said it made Margaery understand the sudden change in the last moments. Not the fact that she was in a relationship, but her _tone_. She was _that_ girl. She wasn’t offended because Margaery was offering her to do anything on the night they’d met, no. It was the other thing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to”, Margaery couldn’t believe she was going to say it like that, “offend you. Thank you for walking me home. I’ll wait with you until your car arrives.”

Margaery felt sick. She had spent hours with that girl, teasing, laughing and sharing, and now she found herself apologizing for _offending_ her by thinking she could be possibly interested in a woman. She hadn’t truly _offended_ her - but the girl looked like she had just been invited to a harem.

“No need”, she answered, staring down at her phone. Margaery noticed her hands were trembling. “It will be here in one minute. You can go.” She wouldn’t look into Margaery’s eyes again.

Miserably, Margaery wanted to laugh. She’d met people like that before, but none of them had managed to fool her into thinking they were that nice for a whole evening. 

“Well, good night… uh…?” She expected her to at least say her name, but not even that. Now, Margaery did chuckle, incredulously. “Thank you again.” 

She entered the building and proceeded to go up the stairs as fast as she could. When she finally got into her apartment, she fell on the couch and felt an uneasiness take over her mind. She didn’t want to admit, not even to herself, but she knew what it was. _Humiliation_ ; and she hated that she was allowing herself to feel that way. But it had been a while since the last time someone had looked at her like that.

How had that happened? How had that night, that had been one of the most pleasant she’d had in months, turned out like that in what, less than one minute? That girl had managed to be the reason for both fun and painful parts of the night and Margaery could only feel anger that she was feeling like that on a day that was supposed to be one of the best in her year. Flashes of the night kept invading her mind - the teasing, the exchange, the smiles and the interest. The girl’s eyes widening when Margaery touched her arm, the quietness of the walk home, her mind working and the _excitement_. The surprise and disappointment. Margaery prided herself on her ability to read others, how could she have been so blind?

With a sigh, she shook her head and let out a weak empty chuckle while starting to realize the ridiculous situation she had put herself into that night. She felt tiredness working itself on both her mind and body but doubted she would have an easy time trying to sleep while feeling that bitter taste in her mouth.

The celebration night she had planned ended in the one way she hadn’t thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I know this didn't end the best way... but I promise things will get better! Hahaha next chapter will be in Sansa's POV!
> 
> In case you want to check out any of the songs presented in this chapter: [Águas de Março](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E1tOV7y94DY), [Chega de Saudade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUuJrpP0Mak) and [A Felicidade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLtLNGKDPz8).
> 
> My tumblr in case you wanna talk about Sansaery: @bachianinhaone


	2. Dance

Getting out of the shower had always been a pleasant moment for Sansa. Patting the towel against her body, moisturizing it from head to toe, brushing her hair. Feeling the soft soapy scent coming from her skin and just having that fresh and clean sensation that seemed to surround her for the following minutes. It would always make her feel calm, and ready. Even when there was nothing to be ready for.

That day, however, she wasn't feeling ready. Far from it. She couldn't recall ever feeling so nervous.

For many reasons. The easiest one is the fact that she was getting ready to go to a place that held the possibility of her running into her ex-boyfriend, the one she had spent five years with, for the first time after the breakup. Not that Sansa still had any feelings towards Joffrey, not at all. In fact, right at that moment, while choosing which outfit to wear, she was wondering if she had ever had any feelings for him in the first place.

Because the more she thought about it, the more she realized how… lack of passion had been constant in their relationship since the beginning. Lack of wanting, not in the physical aspect but the emotional one, from both sides. They had known each other since childhood - Joffrey would frequently spend the holidays in Winterfell, given that his father was Sansa's father's best friend. And whenever the Starks went to King's Landing, the Baratheons would always invite them to have dinner at their house - well, Robert would. Cersei never seemed too pleased with the idea, no matter how little she tried to hide it and - 

Yes! The little black dress she'd brought two months ago. Yes, that and her roommate's heeled boots, the necklace her mother had given her for Christmas and a beaded clutch. That was good. It was too much for what she usually wore, but not too much for where she was going that Saturday afternoon. 

Sansa started to put on the dress while forcing herself to fill her mind with those memories from the past - they were easier than what she really couldn't stop thinking about.

Joffrey had always been… complicated. As in a bratty asshole, even as a kid. None of her siblings could stand him - Arya, Robb, and Rickon having to be stopped from physically harming him more than once; Bran, Jon, and Sansa herself being relatively successful on their mission to ignore his existence. As they grew older however, Joffrey would grow less unbearable. He would spend most of his vacation days in Winterfell locked in the guest room playing his video games, and, by the time he was a teenager, going out with northern friends he would meet on the internet. 

And that's how everything had started. 

Many of these people he would befriend were part of Sansa's social circles. Frequented the places she would go to with her friends, knew people from her class or were members of her painting club. So, by the time they were fifteen, they would see each other a lot whenever his family was in Winterfell. And by then, he started flirting with her. Thinking back now, Sansa could see where that had come from. His father would always joke about them being together - "they are the same age, they are both pretty, look how pouty she gets when he annoys her, I think we will join our families, Ned", he would say laughing, before finishing whatever he was drinking in one swig. And Joffrey was disrespectful, irritating and ungrateful - but he had always wanted his father to like him.

He would flirt with her, charmingly and sweetly in a way that Sansa thought was comically strange coming from him, but she wouldn't give him any hope. It was _Joffrey_ , for Gods' sake! He could have grown from the little bastard he used to be, but he was still him.

At least she'd thought so.

She finished her makeup and grabbed her phone to call her Uber. It was already 15h30 - the thing would start in thirty minutes. Considering the possibility of traffic jams and low long it would get to find a seat; oh, Gods. If she got there too late and missed her chance to - no. 

She started to go down the stairs, and while waiting for the car, she thought about those teenage years, and how the situation she was in right now should not be a surprise. Because while growing up, Sansa had her own conflicts in mind. How she would feel when having sleepovers with her friend Jeyne, for example - most precisely, how she would feel strangely similar to how she felt whenever spending time alone with a boy she liked. How she would blush whenever her classmates changed in front of her in the locker room after gym classes. How she would not only have crushes on the members of her favorite boy bands, but also the actresses of her favorite TV shows. 

At first, that hadn't startled her. It wasn't like she didn't like boys. She did. She was fond of them, every year there was a different boy in her class she'd get all worked up about. But there was also always a different girl she would want to, uh, be friends with? Or, better yet, be like her, that's what she would tell herself. That she couldn't stop staring at some girls, because she wanted to be pretty like them. Because she wanted to smile in the same beautiful way they did, or because she wanted to wear the same perfume that made them smell so good. Telling that to herself, along with the fact that she, in fact, liked boys, was enough for her to be tranquilized and know that there was nothing _wrong_ with her.

Of course, until she'd gotten familiar with the word bisexual. And, most importantly, until _that_ night.

The grey sedan that matched the picture on the app stopped in front of her building and Sansa quickly got inside, settling on the seat behind the driver. While greeting him, she unpretentiously mentioned that she was late, wishing he would get the message and hurry the fuck up.

 _That_ night had been two days before a New Year's, and Sansa was with her friends in a party thrown by a very wealthy girl from their class. Sansa didn't remember much of it, except for the most important details. The ones that would define her life for the next few years. There was this girl, this black-haired attractive girl she'd met that very same evening. Sansa couldn't quite remember why, but they were talking outside the house, alone. She had drunk a glass and a half of champagne, and she was in that soft, mildly exciting, breezing high she would get whenever she had alcohol. And the girl, the damn girl she couldn't even remember the name, wouldn't stop talking - and Sansa just couldn't stop staring at her lips. They were full and red, and Sansa had wanted to -

She'd found herself leaning in before she could even think about it, and she'd only stopped when the girl gently pushed her. She'd looked up to see her with wide eyes and leaning against the wall as if trying to stay the further away from Sansa she could. 

"Uh, sorry. I - I don't like these, uh, stuff," she'd said, before going back to the party, practically running.

And Sansa had started panicking. Because that was it. There was no maybe, no excuses, no other reasons, no - she'd wanted to kiss that girl. She'd felt the desire, the same one she'd felt when she'd kissed the few boys she'd made out with before. The same rush in her stomach, the same flush in her cheeks. 

A different flush covered her cheeks five years later, inside that car, thinking back to that day and hating herself for how she'd felt after that kiss. Hating herself for the stupid, coward and so young girl she'd been - but most importantly, hating herself for, apparently, still being that way, even after five years. 

Because back then, she hadn't wanted to. She didn't know why that was - she truly never saw herself as a homophobe. She was supportive of the gay friends she had, she had celebrated when the same-sex marriage had been legalized in the North, she would call her friends and brothers out whenever they told some offensive joke. But when it came to her - having to call herself a bisexual, having to come out to her family, having to hit on girls - to have girls hitting on her. To change everything she thought she knew about herself, to change what others thought of her. The possibility that her future wouldn't be like what she had planned, that she wouldn't have a husband, that she wouldn't have children the conventional way. 

All of that brought an irrational fear, a fear she knew she shouldn't feel. If it were any of her friends having that fear, she would tell them that it was nonsense, that nothing would change, that they wouldn't be less loved and wouldn't be any different from the person they had been just because of that revelation. But when she'd tried to tell herself that, it hadn't worked.

It hadn't, and she had stood up from where she was sitting on the floor (she hadn't even realized she was sitting). She couldn't know how much time she had been there, maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour, but when she'd come back to the party some of her friends had asked her if everything was okay. She didn't answer them. Instead, she walked towards Joffrey. He'd been there because he was always there during the holidays, and when she grabbed his face and kissed him, he didn't question her. That night, she gave Joffrey everything she had to give.

Sansa sighed, resting her head on the backrest. She couldn't blame her younger self for the fear or the weakness - not when her older self had acted the exact same way six months before. 

The day after that eventful night, Joffrey had become her boyfriend. Robert had been thrilled, as were his other children, Tommen and Myrcella. Cersei hadn't expressed any reaction, while Sansa's family members had done their best to hide their dissatisfaction. And then they'd established a long-distance relationship for the next two years until Sansa was eighteen and unbelievably got into the art program of the King's Landing University - the day she'd gotten the news was easily the best of her life - and moved to his city.

Their relationship was good for both of them because it gave them what they wanted. Sansa needed a boyfriend. With him, she didn't feel the need to think about her _conflicts_. She was dedicated and loyal to everything she engaged herself into, and she wouldn't be any different when it came to a relationship; she wouldn't let herself think about anyone else. They would see each other at least three times a week, they talked about their lives and their feelings. They had sex - it was good. Not mind-blowing, but good. She knew everything about him, and he knew almost everything about her. Their relationship wasn't like the ones she'd seen in romantic films, no. They didn't have that great love that made her toes curl when they kissed, she didn't feel butterflies exploding in her stomach whenever he did something romantic - if he did -, they weren't the main source of each other's happiness. But that relationship filled a part of Sansa's life she was too afraid to worry about. She had a boyfriend, the resolution of her problems. And he had a girlfriend to introduce to his grandfather, a girlfriend he could take to the Baratheon and the Lannister family events, a girlfriend he could show off to his friends.

Joffrey wasn't perfect, far from it. After becoming his official girlfriend, Sansa had found out that the annoying kid he had once been was still very much alive. He was rude, dismissive sometimes, extremely spoiled and really saw himself as better than anyone around him. Maybe, if Sansa loved him, really loved him in that passionate way she saw in the movies, maybe she would be hurt by his behavior. Maybe she would care. But she didn't. When he was rude to her, she was rude to him. When he made fun of her, she would make fun of him. They would argue and make amends all the time, and in five years of relationship they'd gotten so used to each other, Sansa wondered what could possibly bring them apart. It was, with all its flaws and conveniences, the definition of a comfort zone.

The car stopped in front of the theater, and Sansa thanked the driver while opening the door and checking her watch. 15h48 - twelve minutes to find a seat, and Sansa moved as quickly as her heels allowed her to. Her heart was practically jumping nonstop inside her chest, and she tried to focus on not running into Joffrey rather than anything else at that moment. 

Her relationship with him had never been the only defining thing in Sansa's life in King's Landing. Sansa was a painter. She had always been one, even when her paintings consisted of indecipherable portraits of her dog. And Gods, she loved to paint. It was her favorite thing in the world, and her classes were everything. Posting pictures of her paintings on her Instagram and receiving compliments was everything, exposing them to the events the University organized was everything. That was the main source of Sansa's happiness, and nothing else. 

She had a very good life outside of her relationship and work as well, of course. She shared this pretty, small apartment with this amazing girl called Shae, who was completely supportive of her artwork, which meant their apartment was decorated with her own pieces, but who was also always going out, which meant Sansa had plenty of time alone to paint. She had artistic, smart friends from college. She had the most incredible relationship with her family. Her life was perfect.

Or, again, at least she'd thought so. Until another eventful night, a much more recent one, around six months ago. The night she'd met _Margaery_.

She had fallen in love with the Bossa after being there with Arya and, a week later, decided to return to the bar, even if she had to go all by herself. Shae had been busy and none of her friends had seemed interested in going to a Brazilian place - neither had Joffrey, and she thanked the Gods for that. She'd arrived there at 21h and sat at the same table she had the week before. She'd just ordered her beverage when she turned her head to see the other woman. The breathtaking brunette at the table right next to hers, and how had she not seen her? She was alone as well, and Sansa had been lucky to see the moment the waiter delivered her drink and food. She'd closed her eyes pleasurably when she took a bite of whatever croquette she'd ordered, and Sansa had bitten away a smile when she had made a face after taking the apparent bitter first sip of her drink. Her hair was falling in perfect curls over her shoulders and she had been wearing a black tank top with a dark green jacket over it. While she'd been chewing, Sansa had noticed a small dimple forming on her cheek, and she'd felt frustrated that from where she was she couldn't properly see her eyes. 

Sansa had only averted her eyes from the woman when the music had started playing, and even so, not for very long. Especially when she'd noticed her expression at the music that was playing, the curious, slightly disconcerted face with a small smile that Sansa had been sure matched her own facial expression when she'd first been there, a week before. The decision to start a conversation had been much more natural than she would've ever thought.

She found a seat in one of the back rows, but the theater was designed in a way that wouldn't jeopardize her view of the stage. She hadn't seen Joffrey yet, which was a win and was glad she could finally sit to safely go over those memories that had been haunting her for half of a year now.

Because she couldn't understand how that night could be such a blur but also so clear in her mind at the same time. She'd moved from her table to Margaery's and they'd talked for so long and it had been amazing. Her eyes were sharp and amused, her lips curved in an almost permanent smirk and Sansa had felt like her voice was stroking her ears. All of those things, added to their conversation, how easily she would tease her, how fast she would be teased back and the exchange of information disguised as a smooth back and forth, had made Sansa feel things. An intense desire of telling that girl everything about her life at the same time she wished to listen to her speak forever. The craving to keep chatting for hours but also to be quiet and just stare at her. Most importantly, she truly hadn't wanted that night to end.

But it had, and she'd offered to walk her home only so she could spend more time with her, but that's when everything fell apart. To this day, Sansa still tried to understand what had happened. The fear, the unjustifiable fear she'd felt when they'd finally been silent while walking to Margaery's home. Her arm pleasantly tingling from her touch, her cheeks burning from the look of her eyes, her heart hammering from the tone of her voice. 

She'd just realized Margaery had been flirting with her. Which was normal and for someone else, incredible, and for Sansa it had been incredible but also terrifying. That gorgeous, driven, intelligent woman had been flirting with her and Sansa had _wanted_ to feel amazing but something inside her kept blocking it. Something inexplicable, that made it hard for her to speak and caused her throat to burn. She'd started to think about so many things, remembering that night from almost five years before, remembering every night since that one, thinking about those feelings she had been trying to surpass every day with, apparently, no success. And then they had arrived at her building.

The theater lights dimmed, and Sansa felt restless in her seat. The memories of what had happened in front of Margaery's place were what saddened her the most. She didn't like to remember, but still, she'd thought about it every day since. She'd always known fear made one stupid, but never that it would make someone nasty. Because that's how she'd been. The way she'd treated Margaery, what she'd said, how she'd said it, Gods. Margaery's confused and _disappointed_ look invaded Sansa's mind every time she closed her eyes before sleeping. No fear could justify what she'd done. No trauma, no insecurity. 

_The way I treated her was unforgivable, and yet here I am._

She'd started regretting it the moment Margaery entered her building. The wish to change what she'd done and the embarrassment had been present every day since. It had consumed her, it still did, and it was noticeable, since Shae, Joffrey and some of her colleagues had asked if something had happened.

But as tragic as it had ended, her encounter with Margaery had been almost life-changing for Sansa, in a good way. And the first change had been regarding Joffrey. 

Because honestly, after all the feelings and excitement that one evening had managed to evoke, Sansa couldn't deny any longer, at least to herself, that what she had with Joffrey was too little. That one night long flirtatious interaction had made Sansa feel some much more than she had felt in so long, that coming back to Joffrey the next day had bordered on distasteful. At first, she'd tried to remind herself of the advantages of living in that comfort zone - the security, the lack of unrequired intense feelings that would make her not focus on other parts of her life, not having to worry about engaging in something new and getting her heart broken… But instead of making her want to stay with Joffrey, all of that just made her long to reach that comfort zone with somebody else, someone that made her heart melt and her stomach flutter, someone _like_ Margaery.

The decision to split up had not come easy, let alone quickly. It had taken her a good five months to finally put an end to their relationship, and he had not taken it well. He'd yelled, protested, told her she would never find someone like him, accused her of cheating and lying and called her ungrateful. Sansa had to admit she'd had no idea he cared so much about their relationship - not that it would've made any difference in her decision. From the moment she'd left his apartment, with a sense of freedom she hadn't known how much she'd missed, he'd never tried to reach her again.

The lightness in Sansa's chest after the breakup was bothered by only one thing. How she'd left things with Margaery, how she'd made the biggest mistake of her life - not only because it had ruined anything they could potentially have in the future, but because it had been a pretty dreadful thing for her to do. That regret, that weight in her conscience, along with the almost painful craving to see her again, had brought her to where she was at that moment. 

But she stopped thinking about that and anything else when a gentle violin melody invaded her ears and a soft light slowly began to take over the stage. She'd had multiple opportunities to attend a ballet before, but that was the first time she went to one - and she was excited for more than one reason.

She'd heard many times that ballet could be considered boring for someone who was not interested in the matter, but even if she was seeing it for the first time, Sansa decided that she disagreed. From the beginning, the dance was quite fascinating. The music was emotional even at the smallest moments, managing to be sensitive even when the strings and the woodwind instruments were at their heaviest. It did not just compliment the dance but enriched it. She could see how the dance steps and positions did not only hold the purpose of aesthetics or music interpretation - there was a story being told there. Of course, all forms of art told a story, but those dancers were doing more than performing sequences with their bodies for symbolic value; they were portraying characters. 

Every movement told the viewer something; Sansa had googled that specific production before coming. She had already heard of the Three Heads of the Dragon, everyone in Westeros had, but in her search she'd found out that it was a narrative type of ballet, which meant it had a plot, characters, a beginning, and an end. It fits the Romantic style - a movement that brought performance and artistic changes to the Classical one, such as the development of that crazy technique where the dancers support their whole body weight on their toes. This style also brings more focus on the female integrants, according to what she'd read.

Sansa knew that each one of those steps had the intention of expressing a particular emotion, of showing the audience what the character was feeling; and she understood that, helped by the dancer's subtle gestures and dramatic facade. The music helped as well, brass notes marking the urgency moments, what sounded like the melody of a harp implementing the delicate ones and the percussion maintaining the rhythm. 

It was gorgeous, everything, but nothing came close to the moment Margaery danced alone. Sansa had tried hard not to focus solely on her throughout the whole performance, so when her solo moment came she was relieved. And then warm, from head to toe, while watching her look majestic on that stage. She was wearing a luxurious strapless black tutu with small red stones forming a three-headed dragon on her front, and her hair was blonde. Sansa wondered if she had to dye her hair solely to wear it in that tight bun. 

But all of Sansa's remarks on her appearance disappeared while watching her dance. She didn't know anything about ballet steps, but somehow she knew Margaery was being perfect. How she extended her leg off the floor to the back of her body, sometimes with her knee turned out to her side. How she jumped, one of her legs extending first and the other one meeting it quickly before she landed. How she separated her legs and lifted onto her toes, and how one foot would be pointed behind the other ankle. She did all of that with beauty and sophistication, while also managing to portray the character that, even if Sansa didn't already know, she would've recognized from her knowledge of Westeros history as Queen Rhaenys. She was more elegant, fragile and romantic than her sister Visenya, and Margaery embodied it perfectly with graceful movements, calm, intense and expressive all at once. Sansa couldn't remember seeing anything more aesthetically pleasing, and she didn't think she ever would.

All of the other dancers were great too, of course. After so many years she finally understood what all the fuss over Cersei was about, and the man who portrayed Aegon was incredible as well, as was everyone else. The whole production was marvelous, and when it ended Sansa stood up from her seat to applause, like the rest of the audience. 

Only to feel anxiety work its way on her body. Because the performance was over, which meant the easy part was over and she would now have to do what she was really there for. Oh, Gods.

She sat back in her seat, waiting for most of the people to leave the theater, her heart pounding in her chest. Her sight caught Joffrey in one of the front rows, and she crossed her fingers hoping he wouldn't see her, until he left the place and she let out a relieved breath. Finally, when she was almost alone, she took a stand and made her way to the backstage entrance - she'd searched the plant of the King's Landing Ballet theater to know where it was. When she got there, she faced a tall black-haired security guard looking at a magazine. She slowly moved her eyes to look at Sansa, who took a deep breath.

"Hello", she forced a smile, closing her hands tightly to keep them from trembling. "I need to get inside."

Dark eyes blinked in disinterest. "I'm sorry, miss. Only members of the cast and crew can have access to the backstage." And then lowered her gaze back to her reading.

"I understand that", Sansa insisted, grabbing her purse to get her phone, "But I need to talk to my mother in law. She's an important member of the company and urged me to go find her once the performance was over."

"And who is your mother in law and why on earth would she ask you to meet her backstage when she should know damn well you aren't allowed to?" The woman closed her magazine and looked at her ironically.

Sansa raised her phone to show a picture of Joffrey kissing her cheek. The woman just quirked her eyebrows apathetically, as if that didn't have any meaning to her, but then Sansa slid the screen to the next photo, one that showed the two of them standing next to Cersei and Robert, at Joffrey's last birthday. 

The woman's dismissive expression vanished completely, and Sansa smirked. "I think she's going to be upset if I don't get to see her immediately." She pretended to check her watch, "I'm already a little late."

The security guard moved to give her passage, and when Sansa thanked her she was already back at reading the magazine. 

The backstage was big and confusing, and Sansa started to get nervous again at the possibility of Margaery leaving before they had a chance to talk. Two girls, that Sansa recognized as two of the ballerinas, were talking close to where she was, and she walked towards them.

"Excuse me, where can I find Margaery Tyrell?"

"At the dressing room", one of them answered and pointed to a corridor on her right, "Third door on the left."

Sansa thanked them and went in the direction she'd been given. Okay, now she was royally nervous. For a week now she'd been planning this moment, how she would apologize and what she would say, but now she could barely remember anything she had memorized. When she finally got to said door, she had to stop while hearing her heartbeat. Okay - this couldn't go wrong. Even if Margaery didn't forgive her, she would have tried. And that would be enough for her to sleep well again at night. Or at least she thought so. Taking a deeper breath than she had taken the whole day, she went inside the dressing room.

It was big, a mess and almost empty; Sansa thanked herself for waiting so long before trying to go backstage because apparently everyone had already left. There were multiple benches with mirrors and products of hair and makeup spread all over them and many clothes thrown on the floor. Sansa took a look around until she saw her. Just like the first time, she was sitting alone and Sansa was staring at her side. She was already in normal clothes, a light blue simple dress, and her hair was tied up in a much looser bun than the one she had worn on stage - there were Gods knew how many pins spread in front of her. She was applying some makeup remover in a piece of cotton when Sansa spoke.

"You were amazing out there." 

She didn't know where she'd gotten the courage to talk so little after seeing her again for the first time, but she was thankful for it.

Margaery turned to look at her, and the smile that had threatened to appear in her face was quickly gone. She still had all of her makeup on; her eyes were so expressive, Sansa could see confusion, irritation and not only physical tiredness appearing in them all at once. And maybe a little bit of hurt.

They stared at each other for many seconds until Margaery finally spoke. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was serious and contained, so different from the one Sansa had spent four hours hearing, six months ago.

Sansa sighed; she didn't think either of them had the time or the disposition to small talk. Saying what she had to say was hard, but postponing it, even for a few minutes, seemed unbearable. So she just had to force the words out of her already.

"I came here to apologize. For the terrible way I treated you that night. I'm so sorry, Margaery." 

Her eyes grew in surprise, but Sansa continued before she could say anything. She couldn't pause now. "I hated myself for what I did from the second you left my sight. I've been hating myself since then. It's been excruciating -"

Thinking about the guilt, about the weight she'd been carrying for so long is painful enough on its own, but doing it while staring at Margaery's gorgeous, attentive and slightly frowned face was almost more than she could handle. She felt the familiar pressure in her throat but still she kept going.

"It's been excruciating every day since, and it's been all I could think of. I should have never done that to anyone, but especially not to you, who had been nothing but kind to me that whole evening. We -" She closed her eyes for a moment, a weak attempt to gather herself. "We could have been friends. Good friends, we'd gotten along so well. It had been a long time since the last time I had connected so much with someone I had just met. To be honest, I can't even remember if that had ever happened. And I think that's what scared me the most. I felt too much, without expecting it. But I've ruined everything and -"

She took what it felt like the hundredth deep breath that day. Gods, she couldn't even talk for thirty seconds straight. "I know what you think of me. You probably think that I'm, uh, homophobic, and I know it sounds incredibly stupid for me to say that I'm not one after how I've acted, but…" 

She had to stop again, because what she was about to say truly required that from her. Five years, five long years of hiding the truth from herself, of having a part of her life based on a lie, of living in a pain she hadn't noticed. She had debated with herself whether she should say it or not. If she should just apologize and hope for the best or if she was going to throw all good reasons aside and reveal to Margaery her biggest secret. She hadn't been able to conclude, but right now, looking at her, it felt like it was something she owed. But it was still hard to make it past her lips.

Margaery was looking at her carefully, a slight defensiveness in her eyes mixed with curiosity. "Keep talking," she demanded, her voice gentler than it had been before, but still not the soft and light tone she'd once gotten to know.

Sansa's eyes took Margaery's figure in, before finally saying. "I panicked. Because I'm like you. I like, uh, girls too. And this is something I've been trying to kill inside of me for a long time. Five years, to be more exact. Something I've buried, so deep that for a time in my life I managed to forget about it. And that night… it got thrown and rubbed in my face. The flirting, the attraction, how it felt when you touched me. It was too much all at once, so I panicked."

Margaery's mouth opened a little bit, and she tilted her head as if she was analysing her. But she kept silent, and that drove out of Sansa the last words she thought she still needed to say.

"But I know this is absolutely no excuse to treat you the way I did, and I'm so, so sorry." 

At home, preparing herself for that moment, she had planned to say more. Eloquent, touching words that would make Margaery understand her. She ended up saying much less than that; she ended up saying the simplest and most basic words she could use. But somehow her breathing was heavy and her heart was pounding all the same as if she had just given the longest, most difficult speech of her life. And even if she had wanted to, she didn't think she would be able to say more than what she'd just said. All she could do was hope that it was enough.

Margaery was staring at her with an unreadable expression. But when she spoke, her voice had softened considerably and held more compassion than anything else. "Would you like to sit?"

That was not what Sansa had expected, and she spent a few seconds still until she noticed Margaery was pointing to a chair behind her. Sansa sat on it and realized she indeed needed that after the short and too intense emotional moment she had just gone through.

Margaery kept staring at her with those observing eyes, her fingers touching her chin as if she was trying to solve a twisted Math problem. After what it felt like an eternity, she opened her mouth.

"How are you here?" What seemed like amusement sparkled in her face, a look a little more similar to the one Sansa knew. "How do you know my name, how do you know what I do?"

"Uh, remember when I told you I had a boyfriend?" Margaery's face fell into an ironic frown, and she nodded. "I broke up with him!" Sansa added, quickly. "But he, uh, he's Joffrey. Baratheon. You know, Cersei's son." 

Now, Margaery's face turned into an expression of shock that made Sansa laugh. She stopped herself quickly after, not entirely sure if they were there yet.

But Margaery didn't seem to mind, "If I didn't know any better, I would say you're a saint." Her lips quirked into that smirk of hers, and Sansa's heart skipped a beat at the familiarity. How she could be familiar with someone she had met one night and never seen again, she had no idea, but she welcomed the feeling. 

"After a five-year relationship I can assure you I am, even if you refuse to believe it."

"Five years?" Margaery's eyes widened again, "Wow. Don't you think you took the whole 'kill the gay inside of me' thing a little too serious?" Her smirk turned into a full grin now, and Sansa was so pleasantly surprised at how fast the mood had changed. 

"Do you respect me a little bit more now? Knowing the lengths I had to go through?" Sansa's tone was playful, as was the way Margaery nodded at her question.

"Anyway, Joffrey would always give me tickets to go to his mother's performances, but I was never really interested", Sansa smirked a little before she continued, "Ballet is not known for being the most exciting entertainment, and these things last over an hour and a half? You can't blame me for feeling frightened. But I did know you would be here and I had been wanting to talk to you for a long time, so I decided to take the risk and come. You see, the lengths I have to go through."

Only Margaery's almost imperceptive smile betrayed the offended look on her face. "I apologize for being the one who made you go through this martyrdom. But how did you know I was a dancer?"

"I saw you on Cersei's Instagram post about today, a week ago. I was… utterly shocked." Her hands had started shaking and her mind repeatedly yelling _fate, fate, fate_ , to be more exact, but she decided to keep that to herself. "So, I entered the company's website, looked for the cast photos and there you were. I saw you were playing Rhaenys, so I went to the cast list and that's how I discovered your name. Thank the Gods I hadn't sold the tickets on StubHub as I did with the others."  
  
Margaery's mouth opened in exasperation, and she shook her head. "Gods, when I first saw you here in front of me I already knew I was going to feel pissed, but you outdid yourself just now." She sat back in her chair, "How did you get backstage?"

"I told the security my mother in law had asked me to come to see her in here. Apparently that's a big rule to break, but when I told her it was Cersei she didn't argue and let me in."

Margaery laughed freely at this time, her dimple stealing Sansa's attention. "It is a big rule to break, but Cersei wouldn't care about that, you got it right." She tilted her head, looking at Sansa questionably, "Now, you do know this theater only has one exit, right? Why didn't you wait for me there, you would have seen me once I left."

Sansa remained quiet for just a moment. "I would like to say I did it because I like the risk. The chance of getting called out by the security, the possibility of running into Cersei", she gave a self-deprecating smile, "But I just hadn't thought about the exit."

Margaery grinned. "And I hate to break even more the spell of how many lengths you went through only to see me", she rested her chin on her arm, "But you knew where I lived. Didn't it cross your mind that going there would be a more straightforward way to see me?"

Sansa gave a more contained, almost shy smile. "You keep trying to undermine my grand gesture", her tone became a little more serious, "But as a matter of fact, I went to your apartment building. Twice."

Margaery's eyebrows raised in interest. "How so?"

"I went there, wanting to talk to you. But I would give up five minutes after getting there." She lowered her eyes, memories of those days taking over her mind. When she would get up in the morning with some kind of confidence boost, ready to face Margaery, knowing exactly which words to use, craving to end the guilt she'd been feeling for months. The prospect of it would excite her, she would leave the house beaming and Shae would ask what had gotten into her. And then on her way she would slowly start to get a little less optimistic, a lot more nervous, afraid of having to deal with all those thoughts that had triggered her on the night she'd met her, fearing Margaery's reaction when seeing her. By the time she would get there, she would be on the edge of giving up. And after a few minutes of pondering, she would be on her way back home. Feeling weaker than ever.

Sansa lifted her gaze back to Margaery, whose eyes were focused so intensely at her, and she wondered if she could read what was on her mind.

Clearing her throat, Sansa teased, "I figured meeting you there would increase my chance of getting kicked out. I couldn't imagine you doing this here, where all your respectable coworkers and teachers would be."

Margaery gave her a small smile. "Cautious girl." Sansa sensed that she knew that was much more to it, and the fact that she had the sensibility not to push for an actual explanation just gave her more certainty that going there tonight had been the right thing to do.

A small noise from Margaery's cell phone caught her attention, and after glancing at whatever was on the screen, she looked at Sansa apologetically. "I hate to cut this short, but I have to go. The girls and I are meeting to celebrate how tonight went, and apparently, I'm so late they've already finished all the wine and I'm gonna have to buy some more before meeting them."

"Oh." It was all Sansa gave back. She didn't want to leave her just yet - the conversation had been better than she had expected, and she still felt like there was so more to be said. She didn't even know if Margaery had properly forgiven her yet.

But the other girl was already standing up, gathering her things in a white backpack, and then turned to Sansa. "So." She said, a smooth smile covering her face.

"So", Sansa replied, not sure of what to say. She wanted to put an end to it already and directly ask her if she'd forgiven her, even though she knew it would sound lame. But she and Margaery were back at the staring at each other silently for what it felt like forever thing again and, as pleasant as it was to look at her, Sansa didn't think she could take this unanswered question between them.

She cleared her throat, "So, uh, do you think we could, uh - meet each other someday? Like, to continue this conversation, and, uh, hang out?"

Margaery bit her lip - Sansa's eyes were drawn to the action - while gazing at her considerably like she had done a few times tonight. Sansa wanted to squirm under her look, at the same time she craved to hold it; the usual dichotomy that was persistent on both occasions they'd seen each other.

"You were right; when you said what you've been through couldn't excuse your actions. I'm touched by all you've told me, but that doesn't change how awful that night made me feel." Her tone was surprisingly not as serious as her words suggested, but Sansa still lowered her head at what was said, her stomach dropping and a sense of defeat taking over her body. She'd been optimistic; after Margaery's smiles, gentle teasing and soft eyes. The possibility of things not working out crushed her differently than she had imagined.

Until one single finger gently urged her chin up. It was the smallest touch but still managed to affect her.

"But I've made my share of mistakes, and I haven't always had the courage to apologize the way you did. I appreciate it." 

She said that with her lips curved in the most wonderful smile, and that, along with the meaning her words held, caused warmth to spread all over Sansa's body. Who didn't have it in her not to reciprocate that smile, not when she felt like the moment she had waited for, earned for, had come after so long.

It was like everything had fallen into place. Like a persistent ache torturing her neck had been soothed, like her shoulders relaxing after carrying a heavyweight for a long time.

"So, are you free next weeke-?" 

"Yes!" Sansa answered before Margaery could even finish the question, a little too enthusiastically; but in her current state she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Great", Margaery chuckled, before her still red lips from makeup turned into her smirk, "I'll text you". And handed her phone to Sansa.

They exchanged numbers and Margaery urged them to get going. Throughout the whole walk towards the exit of the theater, they didn't talk; but, unlike last time, Sansa's mind was nowhere near any kind of nervousness, second thoughts or fears. Far from it, she was feeling lighter and more sure than she'd felt in so long. And she was pleasantly conflicted again, as she always seemed to be when it came to Margaery, because she didn't want to part ways with her but also wished to get home already only so she could lie in bed and replay in her mind everything that had happened. 

She threw some discreet glances at her, and in one of those she remembered to ask a question she had wanted to since seeing her on stage. "Did you have to dye your hair only for the dance?"

Margaery shot her a smile, "Don't worry, I'll dye it back in a couple of months. It was Cersei's _suggestion_ , not to use any other word. According to her, it makes no sense for a Targaryen to have brown hair. Even though something tells me she wouldn't have the same opinion if _she_ weren't blonde. Even though the whole point of the ballet bun is for the focus to not be on the hair."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You look nice with both blonde and brown hair." The words left her mouth before she could contain them.

Margaery raised only one eyebrow at her. "You think so?" She gave a lopsided smile and used both hands to finally loosen her hair completely. A cascade of golden curls fell; it was longer than it had been when Sansa saw her for the first time, reaching past her shoulders. Brown hair had a nicer contrast to her skin, but the blonde brought up her eyes beautifully.

"You can grab it if you're so fascinated," Margaery joked at Sansa's long look and turned her attention to her ringing phone.

Images of herself grabbing Margaery's hair took over Sansa's mind and she blushed. She hadn't even paid attention to what Margaery said on the phone until she hung up nervously.

"I gotta go; apparently one of my friends got tired of waiting for me to arrive and decided to drunkenly pick me up in her car. She'll park two streets from here." 

"Oh, Gods," Sansa exclaimed, "Do you need any help?"

"No, it's okay. I'll make her let me drive when she arrives." She went from nervous to sly in one second. "I'm very persuasive, you know. With drunk people it can't be that different."

"Oh, I can imagine," Sansa replied with a smirk of her own. That easy flirting was one of her favorite things about talking to Margaery; she had never been like that with anyone, Joffrey or before him.

"Well", she started, before checking her phone for a moment. "Sansa Stark. I look forward to seeing you next weekend."

She'd saved her number under her name in Margaery's phone, obviously, and the sound of it coming out of her mouth was almost dangerously good to hear. 

"Me too, Margaery." 

She winked at her, before turning around and walking in quick steps towards where her friend would meet her.

And Sansa stayed still, looking at her from behind until she'd left her sight; an embarrassingly goofy grin on her lips.

She wouldn't stop grinning until so many hours later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends!
> 
> So, what did you guys think? Did it feel too rushed, or something like that? Please tell me all your thoughts! :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, guys, and I hope you're doing fine right now! :D
> 
> My tumblr in case you wanna talk about Sansaery: @bachianinhaone


	3. Painting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I'm sorry for taking so long to update (over four months) - I've actually been busier with quarantine and I haven't been really inspired. But I promise next chapter will not take that long!
> 
> Hope you like it!

“Fuck.”

Margaery was panting, lying on the studio’s wooden floor. Her breathing hadn’t come back to normal yet when a golden head appeared in her sight, unimpressed emerald eyes looking down at her.

“You don’t seem as disposed as usual, Little Queen.” Cersei smiled as if standing while Margaery was lying at her feet was her favorite position.

“It’s Sunday morning,” Margaery acknowledged, forcing herself to return the smile while moving a little further away from Cersei’s shoes.

“So you should probably be well-rested then,” she said while offering her hand to help Margaery up.

“We were on stage yesterday.”

The second presentation had been the day before, and it had been even better than the first one. Not perfect though, at least not to Cersei - _I just finished watching your video from today. You messed up. I’ll try and fix it tomorrow, at the studio by 9 a.m_.

Margaery hadn’t been pleased at all to receive this message at the exact moment she had arrived home, late at night, tired to the bone. But the mere thought of meeting Cersei’s calm eyes and accusing smile on Monday was too much for her; in all those years working with the older woman, Margaery had _always_ prioritized the ballet. Well, she had never prioritized anything else before in her entire life, let alone while working with the best and most ambitious and demanding and ready to fuck you over at the first mistake dancer in the country, if not the world.

So if Cersei told her she needed to wake up early Sunday to fix whatever she had gotten wrong the day before, she would.

“We’re done for today. I don’t think you can take it any longer, and you’re sweating like a pig,” Cersei handed her a towel, “Change your shoes and gather your things, we need to leave now so the cleaning staff can get to work and finish before lunch.”

“You’re kidding, right? I need a shower.” She had practiced for almost two hours, and Cersei had exaggerated just a bit when mentioning her sweat; she was going to be out on the streets looking like that?

Cersei just smirked, “Oh, come on, you don’t look… like you usually do, but it’s not like there will be a lot of people on the streets. It is Sunday morning after all.”

Margaery didn’t bother answering, merely hurried up so they could leave already.

On their way out, she tried to fill the silence, “Will you be doing anything today?”

Cersei threw a glance at her. “Lunch with my father and my brother.”

“Your twin?”

The older woman grimaced. “No, the _other_ one.” She rolled her eyes and opened her purse to grab her keys, before turning to Margaery, “The parking lot is that way. I would give you a ride, but I just got my car washed a couple of days ago, you know,” she nodded at Margaery’s sweaty gym clothes.

Margaery smiled in the way she hoped Cersei knew was only meant to her. “I understand.”

“See you tomorrow, Little Queen.” She tucked a loose strand of Margaery’s hair behind her ear. “I’ll never get tired of telling you how much better you look with this color.”

“Rumour has it I look more like you.”

At that, Cersei gave another smile that didn’t reach her eyes and went on her way.

On her way home, Margaery realized she would have had to come up with a lie if Cersei had returned the question and asked her if _she_ would be doing anything later today. She didn’t think Sansa would like it if her former mother-in-law knew that she was… receiving another woman at her home?

When Sansa had messaged her, a couple of days after their talk at the dressing room, asking if she would like to have lunch and spend the Sunday afternoon at her place, Margaery had been surprised; she couldn’t deny she had expected something more _traditional_ , like dinner at a restaurant, a movie, or even getting some drinks. But then she’d realized she shouldn’t be surprised at all.

Margaery wasn’t even sure that was a _date_ , after all. She thought so, but she couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, it _could_ be a date, but it could just not end the way all her dates used to end. With Sansa, she couldn’t be sure.

She knew for a fact Sansa was attracted to her; she had doubted it before, but she was certain now. She had seen it in the way she had squealed when Margaery suggested they went out, and how she had stared when Margaery had undone her bun. But, honestly, did that mean anything? The night they met had been better than many first dates Margaery had had before, but it had still ended that way. And she understood now, after Sansa told her everything, why she had acted like that - she understood, and she had put it behind her, but she still couldn’t have with Sansa the same confidence she usually had with other people.

An entire afternoon alone at the apartment of any of the other people she had dated before could be the promise of many things - she wasn’t counting on any of them happening today, though. She was sure she wouldn’t be left as miserable as she had been the night they had met, but she wasn’t optimistic for anything other than a nice conversation and good laughs, at least for today.

Still, she thought as she arrived home and went directly to the bathroom, she couldn’t deny that she was excited. Because Sansa was sweet, and funny, and different, and Margaery couldn’t wait to spend more time with her, really.

She spent a good forty-five minutes under the shower, and by the time she had finished drying herself and brushing her hair, she still had another forty-five minutes to choose what to wear and then go to Sansa’s place.

So she just threw herself in bed, feeling her naked back against her sheets, and closed her eyes. Having not slept a lot at night and being more tired than she usually was, her body was growing heavy at that comfort. But she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep - not with the prospect of meeting Sansa in a little while -, so she gave in to the sensation. She spent most of the time she had left laying there half asleep, worrying about the next presentation, thinking about the one the day before, thinking about Cersei and thinking about Sansa, until she realized she should probably get going.

She decided to wear her light green dress, the one that had a low-cut neckline. She still remembered Sansa noticing her cleavage that night months ago.

Finally, she finished a simple make-up and called an Uber to the address Sansa had messaged her.

-

She was greeted with the most lovely smile when Sansa’s front door opened, moments after she had knocked.

“You’ve made it!” Sansa made way for Margaery to pass, shutting the door behind them a second later. She was wearing old denim overalls and a white shirt, and it made her look truly cute.

The apartment’s walls were pale grey, with multiple paintings hanging on them. The biggest of them, hanging above the couch, showed a pack of six wolves; they were gorgeous, and the style was not exactly realistic - the colors were too bright, the lines weren’t straight and the background was abstract. Even with her glance, Margaery realized all the paintings were like that. Another one caught her attention, a red hummingbird kissing a golden rose. All the artwork was beautiful, and it distracted Margaery from what Sansa was saying.

“I’m sorry, what?” She turned around to look at the redhead and met an even bigger smile than the one she had been received with.

“I was asking for your jacket and your purse.”

“Oh,” Margaery quickly took off her jacket and handed it to Sansa along with her bag. “Lovely paintings you’ve got here.”

“You do?” Sansa’s face had lit up even more. “I mean, do you like them?”

“Yeah,” Margaery smirked. “And after all the opinions you spitted out about ballet last week, it is comforting to know you have some taste in art.”

Sansa jaw fell slightly, “I only said I had been afraid it could be a little too monotonous to me. I did change my mind, though! I had a great time last week.”

“Oh, really? Would like me to get you a ticket for next week’s presentation?”

Sansa blinked and then her lips curved into a shy smile, “I mean - I would love too, but I’ve seen it now,” her eyes widened a bit, “Not that it’s not worth watching a second time! It’s just that, I don’t like re-watching things, not even movies. But I could always meet you after if you want my company. I have my way into the backstage, as you know.”

Margaery chuckled, “I do. Now, don’t get me wrong, but I haven’t eaten since breakfast and this smell is not making it any easier for me to keep my manners.” A delicious scent of spices had invaded Margaery’s nostrils a few seconds after she had passed the door.

“Oh, sure!” Sansa turned around to open a closet door behind her. She hung Margaery’s jacket in a coat rack and placed her purse on a shelf, “So, it’s a Dornish recipe. It’s chicken, I made it because I know you eat it. You know, because of what you were eating at the Bossa that night, and I didn’t want to risk cooking something you didn’t have, like red meat or fish, or something you didn’t like.”

She walked to the dinner table and pulled the chair for Margaery to sit. “Although I’m not sure you’ll like what I made today, Dornish spices are pretty strong, I hope I got them right.”

Margaery hesitated before taking her seat, “I’m sure you did, but don’t you need help to bring the food from the kitchen?”

Sansa shook her head, “Oh, no, I just need to know what you’ll have to drink. I have wine if it’s not too early in the day for you or something.” Sansa grimaced like she had said something dumb.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have some. What I’ll drink is not exactly what’s on my mind right now.” Margaery smiled and Sansa made her way into the kitchen.

And as the smell suggested, Sansa’s food was delicious. The wine matched perfectly, and after taking the first sip, Margaery asked, “So, what made you invite me over today? Wanted to rub in my face that you not only have good taste in music and painting but that your cooking is also insane?”

Sansa put her fork down and beamed, “Did you listen to any of the songs I showed you that night?”

“Some of them, yes. It wasn’t just because you showed them to me, though,” Margaery nudged Sansa’s leg under the table, “I did enjoy the music that night. You weren’t the only thing I was paying attention to.”

Sansa smiled even as a blush was creeping up her cheeks, “I’m glad. And to answer your question, I won’t be denying that I do use my cooking skills to impress people,” she brought the glass to her lips, “But that’s not the reason I asked you to come here today.”

Margaery smiled curiously, “What is it then?”

Sansa frowned while sipping her wine, “Not until we’re done, it will ruin the surprise.”

Margaery opened her mouth to protest, but before she had a chance to, Sansa gently grabbed the hand Margaery was using to hold her fork and raised it, silently commanding her to eat.

Margaery just laughed before accepting that order that was not all that hard to accept, and Sansa asked, “Did you mind my asking you to meet me for lunch? I know some people take their Sundays off to sleep until the afternoon and stay in bed the whole day. And I imagine you must be tired with all the practicing and rehearsing.”

Margaery shook her head, “Not at all. I mean, I’m exhausted, yes, but not enough for me to pass this opportunity,” she winked, “Besides, today I woke up earlier anyway.”

“Why?”

“Cersei told me to meet her so we could work on a few things I had gotten wrong yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” Sansa’s tone sounded a bit incredulous. “You were practicing today?”

At Margaery’s nod, the redhead said, “You told me in one of your messages that you guys had practiced even more than regular all week. And if yesterday was anything like last Saturday, it must’ve taken even more of you. How can you just wake up today and work even more?”

“Well, that’s Cersei,” Margaery replied, before returning her attention to her food.

And met a serious look on Sansa’s face when she turned her gaze back to her.

“What?”

Sansa shook her head slightly and looked away from her. “That’s not okay.”

Margaery put her cutlery down. It wasn’t the first or tenth time someone showed concern about how Cersei worked with her.

“I know it’s not. But this is how we’ve always worked together.”

“You guys need to rest,” Sansa’s eyes snapped at her, “I don’t need to know anything about ballet to know that when you practice from Monday to Friday and dance on Saturdays, you need at least one day off.”

“And you’re right. But Cersei,” Margaery chuckled, “She’s much more exigent than any teacher you’ll ever meet, especially to me.”

“I do know her. She’s spent every Christmas in my home ever since I was born, and I was her daughter-in-law for five years. I know what she is like. And I know you don’t have to accept this.”

“But I want to.” Margaery smiled when Sansa’s eyes widened at her words. “She’s the best there is. And I want to be the next best, and Sansa, I won’t be the next best if I work just the same as the other girls do,” she took a long sip of her wine and placed the glass back on the table, “She might not be the most benevolent or understanding teacher, and she doesn’t have the best intentions with me, but I’ve learned more from her than ever before.”

“Now we agree. She doesn’t have the best intentions. She overstrains you because she wants to jeopardize you.”

Margaery’s smile was even wider now, and Sansa shook her head again, “I know you must think I don’t make sense, but as I’ve said, I know her. I can’t see her willingly working towards making anyone the best. She won’t want anyone to be compared to her before or after she retires, not even her golden pupil.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

“You’ve gotten it all right,” Margaery sat back at her chair. She had already told that story to so many family members and friends that questioned her relationship with Cersei. “She doesn’t want anyone compared to her, which is why she dislikes me, because I’ve been compared to her ever since I got to King’s Landing. She’s been pickier with me since the beginning, demanding more of me than any of the other girls, because she’s always wanted me to fail. But it has always had the opposite effect with me, and I don’t know if she’s never realized that, or if she’s just grown fond of treating me like that.”

“It’s probably a power play to her.”

“Probably.”

“And does all of that work for you?” Sansa’s eyes examined her curiously, blue eyes now holding a bit of concern.

Margaery grinned, moving forward and covering one of Sansa’s hands with her own. “It really does.”

She tried to sit back, but the hand that was under Margaery’s turned to capture hers once again.

Sansa’s palm was warm around her, and it felt nice when her thumb slowly caressed Margaery’s fingers.

Their contact only lasted a few seconds, but those were enough to make Sansa’s face blush slightly, even as a small smile played at her lips. Margaery found it endearing.

But then they both turned their attention back to their plates, Margaery trying to finish specifically quickly, so she would know whatever Sansa had planned for them afterward.

When they finished, Sansa tried to deny Margaery’s offer to wash the dishes, but at the older woman’s insistence, she raised one eyebrow.

“Actually, yeah, you do it,” Sansa got up from her seat, “Wash it while I get the living room ready.”

“Ready for what?” Margaery asked while standing up as well, but Sansa only smirked.

“You’ll see! The kitchen is that way.”

It took Margaery around ten minutes to finish washing and drying all the dishes; when she opened the cupboard to store the plates and the glasses, she was surprised to see that Sansa’s kitchen was not nearly as organized as she would’ve thought - Margaery's kitchen was much neater, even though she hardly ever cooked. Thinking about it though, it was probably because of that.

When she came back to the living room, she gaped. Sansa had removed the center table, and the floor was covered by a white cloth. Dozens of paint pots spread around it, along with several brushes of all sizes, not to mention pencils, and rubbers, and paper sheets. Around the corner of the room, there was an easel and a chair.

Sansa was sitting on it, looking very pleased with herself while watching Margaery’s reaction.

“Uh, do I need to ask?”

Sansa straightened up on her seat. “Well, I know you’re probably not interested, since you never asked,” her eyes glared at Margaery, “But I’m a painter. That’s what I study, and what I do for a living.”

At the same time, Margaery felt a bit embarrassed and confused at herself. How could she have not asked Sansa what she did? All her life, Margaery had used what she knew about how to get closer to anyone she would meet, and knew for a fact showing interest in the other person’s life was one way to go; she quickly recalled that she had done that to Sansa on the night they had met, paying attention to whatever she had to say about the music and asking her about her home and what she did on her free time. The question of what she did in her not free time, though, had seemed to have escaped her.

But to Sansa, Margaery just smirked. “That makes two of us. How did you find out about what I did, again?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, before biting her lip as if she was hesitating to say something. Finally, she said, “I would like to paint you. If you’d let me.”

Margaery raised her eyebrows as her lips threatened to curve in a smile, “Really?”

Sansa tried to shrug, but Margaery could see how much she was avoiding her eyes. “I need to work on more human figures for one of my classes. And, well, last week I spent the afternoon watching you doing your thing. I thought it was only fair.”

Margaery laughed at that, “Is that so?” She moved carefully to sit on the couch, trying not to kick any of the supplies that were spread on the floor. “Well, I’m flattered to be your human figure of choice, Sansa.”

The other woman chuckled before saying, “Also, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always had the feeling you could be a bit of an exhibitionist. I bet having someone painting you will be something you’ll like to tell about in the future.”

“You know me well enough.” Margaery smiled. She wasn’t joking before; she was indeed flattered. And Sansa wasn’t wrong, Margaery had always liked the attention, and she somehow had always had it - dancing ever since she was a little child, being the class president. She was even elected the Reach Lady in her senior year (which was something like a Westerosi version of Prom Queen the southern schools liked to do), which she hadn’t planned for but was not surprised whatsoever.

Due to the nature of her profession, she was used to people taking pictures of her and using her image. More than once she had people asking her to pose for them - but this, with Sansa, was completely different. It felt personal. Important, somehow.

The thing is, even if it didn’t feel like it, she and Sansa barely knew one another. They had seen each other twice and exchanged a few messages. So something about Sansa wanting to do that, wanting to use Margaery to exercise her passion, seeing her as someone worthy to be a part of that; it made her feel almost dizzy and... trustworthy? Even if it didn’t make the most sense.

“You know, I’m very picky,” Margaery moved her head to take a long look around the living room, taking in the paintings that were hanging on the wall now much more carefully, “But something tells me I’ll be in great hands.”

Sansa’s smile was so genuine, as she took a canvas from the floor and placed it on the easel.

“Okay, then,” Sansa clapped her hands, “Lay your legs on the couch.” She looked attentively at Margaery, whose legs were now stretched; she was sitting with her back against the couch’s arm. Sansa stood up and walked to her, taking Margaery’s right arm and gently placing it at the edge of the couch, bent at a right angle. Then, she went back to her chair.

She grabbed a thin metal box from the floor and opened, carefully taking some kind of black stick out of it.

“What is that?”

“Charcoal, I’ll use it to draw you first.” She put the piece of charcoal on the easel and proceeded to pin her hair into a ponytail.

“Why not a pencil?”

“Sometimes I use it too, but charcoal does not fixate as much as pencil does, so it’s more efficient to work with.”

“I see.” Margaery stretched her legs, “So, what will you have me do? Will I have to stay still in the same position and not move at all, or something like this?”

Sansa contemplated her. “Stay in the same position while I’m drawing you, but you don’t need to be immobilized,” she adjusted herself in the seat one more time, “When I start to paint, you can move however you want,” then, she smiled, “Ready?”

Sansa started to draw, switching her gaze from Margaery to the canvas. Concentrated like that, she looked precious, her eyebrows scrunched up a bit, and the way she moved her mouth a little to the side. Once in a while, she would brush her finger against the canvas, and sometimes she sat back on her chair to get some distance and quickly look from the drawing to Margaery, as if comparing them.

Margaery didn’t know how much time had passed until she grew tired of the silence, but she didn’t know if she should interrupt. She knew better than to disturb someone working.

“Can we talk? It’s okay if we can’t,” she was quick to add, “I understand if you’d rather us to stay quiet.”

Sansa raised her head to look at her. “No, it’s okay,” she giggled, “I’m sorry, I lose a bit of track when I start doing this. Of course, we can talk.”

“Okay then.” Margaery stretched slightly, being careful not to move too much, “Tell me about what you do. I know that there are several types of painting.”

“Well,” Sansa rested the piece of charcoal on the easel again, and clasped her smudged hands, “My favorite is acrylic paint, like this one right here. I also really like oil painting, but it normally takes two days to dry.” She turned her head and pointed to a painting hanging at the opposite wall from where Margaery was, “That one, it’s oil.”

It showed a shoal, around six fishes swimming together in dark blue waters. All of them were colored dark red, except for one, right in the middle, that was black.

“Pastel painting is really fun too. There’s oil pastel, dry pastel, and chalk. That one, on the right.”

Now she pointed to a painting on the other side of the living room, hanging above the dinner table. A pale black haired girl in a raven black metallic dress. Margaery knew it was a self-portrait right away; the hair color and the expression in her face were different from Sansa’s, but the big blue eyes didn’t lie.

“I’ve also been adventuring myself with watercolor these days, but I don’t have any of them here to show you.” She grabbed her charcoal and returned to her drawing.

“Well, I think my initial reaction might have made it clear what I think about your work,” Margaery smirked, “But, just in case. You are very talented.”

Sansa raised her gaze to Margaery and a timid smile played at her lips. “Thank you,” she murmured, and quickly turned her attention back to where it was.

Margaery took another look around the paintings Sansa had pointed out for her.

“I vaguely remember learning something about painting styles back when I was in high school. Realism, surrealism, impressionism?”

Sansa laughed, “Yeah, exactly.” She squinted at some point of the canvas, and rubbed her finger against it once again. “There are several others though, I can’t even count. Photorealism, painterly, abstract, figurative, modernism… and those are just the western styles. We have Chinese paintings, Japanese paintings,” she sighed, “Thanjavur painting, it’s a classic style from South India. It’s so gorgeous, the colors are vibrant and they use some gemstones and glass pieces that make it distinguish from other art forms. They usually focus on Hindu deities and saints.”

“So you would say it’s one of your favorite styles?”

“Definitely,” Sansa looked up and lightly scratched her throat, smearing it a bit with some coal. “One that I also really like, that you probably have heard of before, is Cubism.” Margaery nodded.

“It’s quite revolutionary, you know. Picasso, and Braque, and Le Fauconnier. It was probably the most influential art movement of the last century.”

“I think I’ve read a bit about it,” Margaery informed. “Geometric forms, monochromatism?” Margaery grimaced a little, not sure if she had said something dumb.

Sansa giggled. “No, you’re right. There are two main branches of cubism, I think the one you’re thinking is the Analytical. The other is the Synthetic Cubism, it uses a lot of different media and collage. _And_ a lot of colors.”

“I see. And what would you say is your style?” Margaery tilted her head at her.

Sansa smiled as she continued to draw. “This is hard to say. I don’t know if it fits perfectly into any.” She bit her lip. “Sometimes I think maybe expressionism? It works a lot with distortion and vivid dynamics. It’s not about precision, but about reproducing something in a way that expresses how you feel... But I’m not sure.”

“I don’t think you have to be,” Margaery said, “Art, of any kind and form, is not about fitting into boxes or labels. It’s never been.”

“You’re right.”

They didn’t talk much after that. When Sansa finished the drawing and started to gather some of the paint pots, Margaery stood up from the couch. She turned around and focused on the only painting she hadn’t paid attention to yet, right next to the black-haired girl one.

It was a boy. His hair was a dark reddish-brown, and he was sitting in a wheelchair. There was a bird on his left shoulder, a raven. With three eyes. And the boy’s eyes caught her attention the most; one was opaque blue, and the other, bright green. The boy's expression was dark and strange, and Margaery found it hard to look away from him.

“That’s my brother,” Sansa informed, and Margaery turned back to her.

Sansa was now separating the paintbrushes. “He very much enjoys some of the most traditional tales from the North, about green seers and the Three-eyed crow.”

“That explains some of it,” Margaery said.

Sansa's eyes focused on hers, and Margaery could tell she had picked up on the silent question there.

She focused back on the paintbrushes, and started, “He suffered an accident. Almost ten years ago, when he was seven.”

Margaery tensed a little at her words and sat on the couch again. Sansa continued.

“It was Christmas. The holidays are always a big thing back home, we always have a lot of guests, and the celebrations are huge. Christmas Eve dinners are huge as well, and normally we all wake up late the day after, even the children, even with the prospect of receiving gifts. That year, Bran woke up really early, though. He had gotten his dog, Summer, a couple of months before, and he would wake up early every day to walk him. On Christmas day it was no different.”

Sansa stopped, staring at the brushes still on her hands.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Margaery’s voice was soft.

“No, it’s okay,” Sansa raised her head to look at her and gave a small smile. And then she kept going, “Basically, that day, we all woke up with Summer barking, desperately. He was scratching the floor and knocking things down, trying to get our attention. We were all worried when we realized Bran wasn’t with him, and we actually followed him outside the house.”

Sansa sighed, “He had been hit by a car. It was very early, and none of our neighbors had woken up from the sound of it, and whoever was driving had not worried to help. So we found him unconscious on the street.”

Margaery gasped. She couldn’t imagine what she would feel if she saw any of her brothers, her older brothers, in that situation; let alone such a young boy.

“I’m sorry, Sansa.”

Sansa nodded. “Yeah, it was a pretty dreadful moment. But we took him to the hospital right away. Well, he hasn’t been able to walk since then.”

Margaery carefully crossed the room until standing in front of her and tucked a strand of red hair that had loosened from the ponytail behind her ear. “The painting is gorgeous. I bet he loved it.”

At that, Sansa managed a smile. “He did.”

The painting part was even longer than the drawing. They talked about many other things in the meantime. About their families; Sansa told Margaery about her other brothers and her sister, about her crazy aunt Lysa and her annoying son. Margaery told about Willas and Garlan, and how she loved them but was much closer to Loras. She also talked about her grandmother, about how she didn’t make any effort to hide that Margaery was her favorite grandchild and how she had always been Margaery’s biggest supporter and critic. Well, compared to Cersei, the second biggest critic.

They talked about childhood, and work, and what they wanted for the future. They talked a lot. By the time Sansa was satisfied with the painting, it already was night.

“Can I see it now?” Margaery asked. Sansa hadn’t let her see anything the whole afternoon - _it will ruin the fucking surprise!_

Sansa sighed while holding the canvas, “Okay. But keep in mind it’s not finished yet. I’m only stopping now because I’m tired and you need to get home and sleep before another torture session with Cersei tomorrow.”

Margaery grinned and stood by Sansa’s side to take a look at the painting.

She was _naked_ , that’s what caught her attention at first. She was sitting in the same position she had been hours before, but Sansa hadn’t drawn her on a couch. She was laying on dark green grass, her arms supporting her midriff up, and she was naked. But she couldn’t _see_ anything, because her whole body was covered with icy blue roses. She was smiling, no, smirking, the dimple on her right cheek more prominent than it normally was, and her eyes were _golden_ , which surprised Margaery. Her hair was much longer than it actually was, spreading on the grass in waves, and they were a bit darker than the color Sansa used on her eyes. Darker than what her hair was right now, but lighter than her natural color. She looked utterly pretty, and if Margaery ever blushed, that would be the moment.

Margaery didn’t know how long she had stared at that painting of herself, but when she finally turned her gaze to look at Sansa, she met a cautious look in the other girl’s eyes.

“Did you, uh… Did you like it?” Sansa asked in a low voice.

Margaery stared at her for a second before giving in to the largest smile. “Are you kidding? That’s stunning!”

It was Sansa’s turn to smile now, and Margaery could sense the relief on it.

“I look better than I am, I didn’t think you could pull that off.” She took the painting from Sansa’s hands to take a better look at it.

Sansa laughed and opened her mouth to say something, but Margaery was quicker, “And you’re bolder than I thought you were, drawing me naked,” she raised an eyebrow and Sansa chuckled again.

“I knew you’re going to say something about that,” then, her smile faltered a bit, and she asked once again in her lower, hesitating voice, “But you’re not just flattering me? You liked it?”

Margaery tilted her head at her and moved to place the painting back on the easel. Then, she stood in front of Sansa, both hands on her cheeks, and her thumbs stroked the skin right below her eyes.

“Sansa, no one has ever done something so beautiful to me. You are _incredible_ , and this is incredible. That painting is something I’d brag about even if I weren’t a bit of an exhibitionist.”

Sansa chuckled a little at that, but it quickly faltered when both of them realized how close they were. Margaery felt how warm Sansa’s face was under her hands, and how it warmed up when Sansa’s eyes moved to her lips. Margaery’s own gaze fell to the other girl’s mouth, and they moved towards one another.

Before jumping apart when the door opened.

“Oh, hey!”

A pretty woman entered the living room, dark hair, and dark eyes. She looked confused when she saw Margaery.

Sansa shook her head, and moved further away from Margaery. “This is Shae, my roommate. Shae, this is Margaery.”

The woman - _Shae_ \- smiled, “Nice to meet you!” She took a few steps to give Margaery a handshake.

“Pleasure is all mine,” Margaery returned, her heart still beating a bit faster than it should from moments before.

“I see you've had a productive day.” Shae looked around to see the mess in the living room, but her tone didn’t seem sarcastic at all.

“Yeah, today was big,” Sansa answered, and her voice trembled in a way Margaery knew she was also affected.

“Margaery, are you staying for dinner?” Shae asked, smiling.

“Sorry, but I think I’ve eaten too much of your food today,” she smiled at Sansa, “And I think I should get going. I’m actually going to call my Uber now.”

Shae nodded, “Oh, okay. See you around?”

“Sure! It was nice to meet you, again,” Margaery smiled, while Sansa was taking her jacket and purse out from the closet.

Margaery took her phone from her bag and dialed her home address on the Uber app, and they left through the door.

“I’m sorry about Shae,” Sansa said as soon as they were on the street; Margaery’s car would arrive in three minutes.

“But she was perfectly nice,” Margaery turned to her, a small smirk threatening to appear on her lips.

“Yeah, sure”, Sansa scratched the back of her neck, “It’s just that she just marched into, uh...” She trailed off, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

 _Into us_ , Margaery completed in her mind. It was adorable, how Sansa would frequently turn from the sarcastic, knowing woman to the hesitating, easily flushed girl. Margaery very much liked it.

She started to take slow steps towards Sansa, noticing how her eyes widened a little at the motion, but did not leave her.

“Today was so different from what I'd expected but very impressive. You’re very talented, Sansa,” she said the words while holding Sansa’s gaze; her eyes had lost whatever clumsiness they’d had moments before. The atmosphere was the same as it had been minutes before.

“It helps when I have someone like you to inspire me,” Sansa whispered when Margaery took a final step, one that had them on the edge of touching. Blue eyes had broken contact with Margaery’s, focusing once again on the other woman’s lips.

“I’m glad I could make that for you,” Margaery replied in an even lower voice, fully aware her breath was touching Sansa’s face.

Her right hand began to trail the same path it had over six months ago, in the night they’d first met. From elbow to shoulder, her fingers so light in her skin, and Margaery lowered her eyes to see the shiver covering the other girl’s arm. Until she felt a touch in her other hand, Sansa so, so delicately held her pinky with her stained fingers. Margaery raised her gaze to look at her face again, to see a mouth opened the tiniest and eyes still glued to her mouth.

It took Margaery about three seconds to finally close the distance between their lips. Sansa’s were so soft between her own, the sweet way she seized Margaery’s bottom lip. Their hands let go of one another, Margaery placing one in Sansa’s waist, bringing them even closer together, the other gently grabbing a handful of red hair. Sansa’s hands came up to cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks, and that’s when they deepened the kiss.

Sansa’s tongue invaded her mouth, stroking with need, and Margaery retaliated by pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, and that was precisely the moment a quick honk separated them.

Margaery examined Sansa, who was breathing heavily and trembling a little bit, but her smile was brighter than Margaery had ever seen.

She couldn’t stop herself from placing a quick kiss to her lips. “Thank you for today. We’ll talk, right?” She asked, before drawing back.

“Of course.” Sansa’s voice was weak but her smile grew broader.

Margaery sent a smile of her own in return and got into the car. She said hello to the driver and turned to the window only to see Sansa watching her, the beaming look still on; until the car was too far on its way to Margaery’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry again for how long it took me to update and also, I'm sorry if those 6.5k words of dialogue were too tiring for you hahaha I can assure you next chapter will have more action - if you know what I mean.
> 
> Huge thanks to my friends Bia (who is a painter) and Nanda (who is a ballet dancer), who have never watched or read the show/books but still helped me so much!
> 
> Tell me what you thought about this chapter, and thank you for reading!
> 
> My tumblr in case you wanna talk about Sansaery: @bachianinhaone


	4. Sculpture

“Fuck.”

Margaery’s voice was slightly distorted, her eyes shut when her head fell back.

The cheeseburger in her hands was the largest Sansa had ever seen, with extra cheese, two slices of meat, bacon and mayo sauce, greasier than any food should be. The sandwich’s perfectly round shape was now ruined by Margaery’s bite.

Anyone who saw the slim figure could never believe what Sansa’s girlfriend - the word still caused her stomach to erupt a bit - could eat. Let alone how much she could eat.

“Hm”, Margaery took a sip of her chocolate milkshake, “This is too good, honey. Try it.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Sansa raised her normal-sized cheeseburger. Comparing it to Margaery’s, she couldn’t believe her girlfriend was eating that with her hands.

Margaery quirked her eyebrows. “If you say so.” She took another bite of the sandwich and placed it on the plate. “What time do you think we should get going to the museum?”

“Three o’clock is fine.”

They were having lunch at a small restaurant located on the same street as the Seven Kingdoms Art Museum. Ever since moving to King’s Landing, Sansa had always wanted to see the exposition of Brandon the Builder’s sculptures, one that was held every fall. He was very much known for his works regarding the Wall and the Winterfell and Storm’s End castles, but not many were familiar with his other side - one that included detailed and artistic pieces and beautiful depictions of the human form. And, he _could_ be Sansa’s ancestor, which made her even more excited to see his work.

The week before, when she’d suggested to Margaery that they could go see it, she had expected Margaery not to be interested. But she had seemed _excited_ and had even bought the tickets the very next day on her way to the studio since the places were close.

“I’m so happy you’re coming with me.” Sansa took Margaery’s hand on hers, bringing greasy fingers to her lips. “If it’s too boring I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

Margaery’s lips curved in that way that always made Sansa shiver a bit, “Yeah?” A thumb brushed over Sansa's bottom lip, her head tilting a bit. “I’ll remember that.”

Sansa gulped like she always did whenever Margaery looked or talked to her like that.

They had been dating for three weeks now and, even though Sansa was trying hard not to seem too enthusiastic even to herself, she couldn't deny it had felt like the best three weeks of her life already.

They talked every day, pretty much all the time, and saw each other as much as they could. They would spend a lot of time at Sansa’s or Margaery’s apartment - it was a little bigger than the one Sansa shared with Shae, and it had white walls and a wooden floor, which Sansa thought was awesome.

They would watch movies and Sansa would try to teach Margaery’s recipes and they would stay up until late talking while eating cookies and drinking wine. Oh, and they made out - a lot.

That week, Sansa had gone to one of Margaery’s practices. Her girlfriend had told Cersei they were just friends because Sansa hadn’t felt comfortable with her knowing yet, and the next day Margaery had attended Sansa’s Art History class with her.

They did pretty much everything couples did and more. Well, almost everything.

They hadn’t had sex yet. It confused Sansa a little - she had slept with Joffrey for the first time much before they had completed three weeks together, and back then she was just a teenager, and right now she was much more attracted to Margaery than she had ever been to her ex-boyfriend. And considering Margaery had tried to get Sansa to come up to her apartment on the night they had first met, she wouldn’t have thought her girlfriend was one to wait.

But every time they seemed to be… going further, Margaery was always the one to slow it down. Which always disappointed Sansa a bit, but she didn’t think it would be sensitive to question her. And Sansa wouldn’t dwell a lot on it (just a little), because she would always get distracted right after by any of the other amazing aspects of dating Margaery.

“Anyway,” Margaery began once she finished another major bite, pulling Sansa out of her thoughts. “Are you really interested in this man’s work or is it only because he built your little town with his own hands and you want to show off for me?”

Sansa pressed her lips. “Since you need to know, I do want to understand the relationship between painting, you know, what I do for a living, and sculpture. They’re completely different fields, obviously, but Da Vinci used to say that the only difference between the two is that one brings to the artist physical fatigue and the other mental fatigue. And Vasari said they’re sisters who descended from drawing.” Sansa took a bite of her cheeseburger and finished with her mouth full. “But rubbing the northern superior artistic nature in your face doesn’t fail to be tempting.”

Margaery sucked the grease from her fingers and pointed one to Sansa, “Do you think Brandon the Builder also had a muse, the way you do?” The smirk appeared before she had even finished the sentence.

Sansa rolled her eyes. Ever since she had said Margaery inspired her, her girlfriend would bring it up all the time. With a teasing tone in her voice, yes, but her face would glow in a way that let Sansa know Margaery valued it.

They stayed a little longer after paying their checks, just chatting until it was time for them to leave.

“It’s not humanly normal for you not to be wearing a coat,” Margaery said once they stood from their table.

Sansa grinned when she looked down to see her girlfriend’s heavy yellow jacket over her long blue dress. It was tighter on her torso, with a plunging neckline - pretty much like all of Margaery’s dresses, as she had come to find out. Sansa herself was wearing her skinny dark jeans and a purple sweater.

Touching the hem of it, Sansa said as they started to walk towards the restaurant’s door, “This sweater is pretty warm.”

Margaery frowned while using her right hand to open the door. “It’s not!” She touched Sansa’s shoulder once they were out. “It might be a little warmer than usual, but not as close as it needs to be in this weather.”

“Winter hasn't even come yet, Marge.” Sansa chuckled. “Gods, you wouldn’t even survive the autumn up North.”

Margaery linked their arms as they began to walk. “So I’ve been told.”

“Margaery!”

A masculine voice came from behind them, and they turned around. The man, who looked a little older than Margaery, was tall and had extremely blonde hair, and two dark blue globes as eyes. He wore a red shirt with black dots and smiled brightly at Sansa’s girlfriend.

“Hey!” Margaery let go of Sansa to hug him. “How are you? It’s been what, eight months?” She asked once they separated, and Sansa tilted her head at the man.

“Something like that, yeah. Which probably means this is the amount of time I have spent without taking those tequila shots from that place downtown. I don't miss it if I’m being honest. And your hair, Marge, you look stunning-”

“Aegon?” Sansa interrupted.

Both of them turned to look at her, and Margaery said, “Sansa, this is Griff Blackfyre. Griff, this is Sansa Stark.”

He reached out to shake Sansa’s hand and smiled. “You’re probably mistaking me with my cousin, Aegon Targaryen. We get that a lot.”

“Oh, I see.” Aegon was Sansa’s stepbrother’s half-brother or something like that. Sansa had met him years before.

“I met Griff back when I was still auditioning for the role of Rhaenys. I figured I could use some guidance from someone involved with the Targaryens, and Griff is close to them and introduced me to his cousins.”

“By the way, Marge,” Griff says, “The girls told me you’ve been great! I’ll try to come by next weekend to watch you.”

“Yeah, we only have two presentations left,” Margaery sighed. “I’m so exhausted I feel like I can’t wait it to be over, but I know once we’re done I’ll miss it like hells.”

“I can imagine. But hey,” he took a couple of steps towards Margaery, “We should meet up again sometime, like before.” He said that with a charming smile that made Sansa squint.

“Definitely!” Margaery reached out to take Sansa’s hand into hers, “We should call the girls too, I’m dying to finally introduce Sansa to them.”

When Griff’s gaze moved from Margaery to their joined hands, and then up to Sansa, his eyes widened a bit with comprehension.

“Oh, of course!” He chuckled. “I’ll keep in touch, Marge. It was nice to meet you, Sansa.” He beamed at the redhead.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Sansa smiled and tightened her hold on Margaery’s hand.

“Bye, Griff!”

He winked at both of them and turned around to go inside the restaurant the two women had just left.

Margaery smirked at Sansa while squeezing her hand before letting it go and linking their arms once again.

They talked silently until they reached the museum. A small line was forming outside the front doors, around twenty other people waiting to see the same exposition they were.

Margaery turned to her while they stood at the end of the line, with a smile on her lips.

“Is there anything else I should know before we go inside?” She played with Sansa’s hands. “Brandon the Builder’s favorite drink? The name of his first girlfriend?”

“Did you see him?” Sansa’s eyes widened the moment the question left her lips; she hadn’t thought that through.

Margaery blinked at her. “What?”

Sansa gulped. Okay, she was going to keep talking now. “I mean, were you seeing him? Griff, back when you guys met?”

“Oh,” Margaery giggled. “Yes, we went out a couple of times.”

“Okay. I was just curious.” Sansa clarified, intertwining her fingers with the ones that were caressing her hand.

Margaery’s smile widened as she scooted closer to Sansa. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

“No!” Sansa’s voice was louder than it should, and she hated herself for blushing.

Margaery didn’t pretend to believe her. “There’s no reason to be. It was almost a year ago and it was nothing serious. Two mildly drunken nights.” She shot one of her smiles to Sansa and looked at her watch. “Why is it taking so long?”

Sansa didn’t think about how long it was taking for them to be allowed in, though. Her thoughts were stuck at that _it was nothing serious_. Margaery’s words triggered the question Sansa had been rolling over her mind for a couple of weeks now.

She covered Margaery’s right hand with both of hers and sighed.

Avoiding Margaery’s gaze, she asked, “Did you, uh. Did you sleep with him?” And then closed her eyes shut for a second.

And then opened them back up to see Margaery frowning. “Uh… yes.” Margaery shifted from one foot to another and tilted her head. “What’s this about?”

“It’s just that…” Sansa refrained the wish to avert her eyes once again. “I wasn’t lying before. I’m not jealous.” And she wasn’t. Of course, she hadn’t _liked_ to see the way Griff had looked and asked her girlfriend out in front of her, but it’s not like he could have known anything.

“It’s just that you mentioned you guys didn’t have anything serious, but still you slept with him.”

Margaery’s eyes grew wider, and Sansa realized how that had come out. “I’m not judging you!” she was quick to affirm, “You can sleep with whomever you want! I mean, you could, not now though, since we should only be with each other now-” Rolling her eyes at herself, Sansa took a deep breath. “What I mean to say is… what I’ve been wanting to say, actually.”

Margaery squeezed her hand. “What?”

“You haven’t slept with me,” Sansa said, a bit lower once she realized that people were waiting next to them in the line. “We are serious, and we haven’t slept together. I know it’s only been three weeks, but I do consider us to be serious, and we’ve had plenty of opportunities. But you always put a stop to it whenever we are… heading somewhere, and I find it strange, especially now that you’ve told me you slept with Griff, even if it was just a hookup.”

Margaery’s eyes filled with understanding, and she gave a small smile. “Can I be honest?” At Sansa’s nod, Margaery continued, “Honey, this is all so very new for you. And a while ago you wouldn’t even admit to yourself you liked women. Don’t get me wrong, okay? I just don’t want to try something that you consider too fast or something that you’re not ready for yet, and make you force yourself to do something only for the sake of me.” She gave a weak laugh. “Or make you freak out and reject me.”

“Reject you?” Sansa shook her head. “Do you think I would reject you?” _The way I have before?_ she thought, and pressed her lips. “I know I’ve had my problems with acceptance, but you don’t have to tiptoe around me.”

“I don’t!” Margaery let go of Sansa’s hand and crossed her arms around the redhead’s neck. “I won’t lie to you, I’m not as... straightforward with you as I used to be with the other people I’ve dated, but you are also not as experienced as them and I don’t think we should rush. To be quite honest, I just didn’t think _you_ wanted that.”

Sansa almost settled her hands on Margaery’s waist automatically, but stopped herself and crossed her arms under her chest. “You shouldn’t make these assumptions about what I want. I’m a grown-up, and if I’m with you, I want to be with you. And if you were apprehensive about what I am or what I am not ready for, you should have asked me because I have been confused these past weeks.”

Margaery’s eyes were thoughtful as she stroked Sansa’s shoulder blades. “I understand, honey. I’m sorry for confusing you, but you can’t blame me for being hesitant.”

Sansa looked away from her and asked in a low voice, “Is it always going to be like that?”

But before Margaery could respond to that, a man’s voice came from the entry of the museum, “Everyone one who is here for Brandon’s exposition, get your tickets and keep in line.”

Margaery pulled away from Sansa to get their tickets from inside their bag, and they walked in line until it was their turn to show the tickets to the man.

He checked the tickets, tore a piece of each, and returned what remained to Margaery without raising his eyes. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

It wasn’t like Sansa was happy about the short conversation she’d just had with her girlfriend. She wasn’t, and in any other situation, she would have felt the need to withdraw herself and dwell on it. She still felt a little like that but managed to ignore the feeling once she stepped into the museum and took a look around it.

She had been there before, but it always took her breath away. It was quite beautiful, with a light marble floor that matched the walls. It wasn’t as big as many other museums Sansa had visited, some of them in King’s Landing too, but it held its charm. What caught Sansa’s attention the most was, of course, the amazing sculpture pieces displayed in the right section of the museum.

Some sculptures were displayed the whole year there, some of them by pretty big names, like one from Michelangelo and one from Brancusi. But the ones Sansa was staring at, she hadn’t had the chance to see yet.

“Wow, look.” Margaery took her by the hand and they walked towards what they were there to see.

A big sign attached to the wall informed in clean letters: “The few and unknown artworks of Brandon the Builder, the legendary founder of House Stark and the man who built the North as we know.”

“See?” Sansa beamed at her girlfriend and squeezed the hand holding hers. “ _Founder_ of my family.”

Margaery laughed and turned her head to look at the woman who was guiding the visitors that had come to see the exposition. Margaery headed towards where she was, pulling Sansa along.

“Even though Brandon’s work regarding the sculpture branch is not extensive, it is rather various.”

The brunette guide pointed to a series of small and medium-sized ceramic sculptures arranged in a long table. “Many believe it was through pottery that he began his work with the visual arts. Some say he used to make those pieces to give to his relatives as gifts.”

Even the smallest works were detailed. There was one of a wild white bear with shiny blue eyes; another one showed a man kneeling with a bloody sword in his hands, in front of a blue surface that was turning red. Sansa very much liked his use of color on that one.

“Look at that one!” Margaery pointed to the biggest pottery sculpture, a woman’s bust inside a white lion’s skin. Her sad eyes were purple and her hair was short, its white color almost completely camouflaged by the lion.

“Historically,” the guide began again, “Almost all developed cultures have used ceramic art since thousands of years ago, such as Chinese, Persian, Mayan, Korean. Westerosi culture was not one of them back then. However, that didn’t stop Brandon. He began with stone containers,” she would point to where she wanted them to look at, “Tableware, and what apparently was his favorite, figurines.”

She walked a few steps and stopped. “Now, this is interesting. Because glass art is somewhat of a modern thing. Carving and handling glass is quite difficult, and the most famous glass artworks come from the twentieth century. So it is pretty shocking that Brandon did this.”

She pointed to a glass sculpture of a man. If Sansa had to be honest, it wasn’t exactly all that nice, especially if compared to the others they had just seen. But it was impressive when she thought about how hard it must have been to be done.

It wasn’t exactly a man, she came to notice, but a transparent humanoid. He was holding a sword and wearing something like armor, and his eyes were blue too. It wasn’t Sansa’s favorite, but it was interesting.

Their tour through Brandon’s sculptures lasted about forty-five minutes. There weren’t many things to see, since, as the woman said, his artwork wasn’t so extensive, but there was some pretty imposing stuff.

Sansa’s favorite by far was the unbelievable wood carved sculpture of a heart tree. It was big, and splendid, the white face with red eyes as rude and piercing as it was supposed to be. Although, it wasn’t as conserved as the others.

“That’s the thing about wood carving,” the guide had explained, “It doesn’t survive as well as other materials. This one is in a pretty good state considering all the insect damage and decay it must have gone through.”

“And finally,” the woman said once they got to the biggest and flashiest sculpture. “Brandon’s most famous work. The Winter Rose.”

It was a woman. Even though the statue was huge, Sansa noticed she was not supposed to be a tall woman. Not short too, maybe average height. She was wearing a transparent thin gown, that didn’t hide any part of her body. Her face was turned sideways, she had an upturned nose and her lips were curved in an almost imperceptive smile. Her eyes, Sansa couldn’t see much, but she could sense they were meant to be captivating.

“As you can see, this piece stands out for being completely different from the rest of Brandon’s work. Many say this masterpiece was Brandon’s way of exploring the art of human sensuality through sculptures. He wouldn’t be the first or the last.”

The more Sansa stared the more she realized the erotic imagery on that statue. He had somehow made the dress even more transparent on the area of her breasts, it almost seemed like she was wearing nothing up there. Her waistline and the curve of her hip. Her smooth legs closed and her hands casually clasped in front of where her thighs met.

Sansa’s eyes moved upwards, and she observed the woman’s arched neck and the line of her jaw. Even her hair was sensual somehow, long and falling in waves over her shoulders and down her back.

The museum lady started talking again, but Sansa was no longer paying attention. She wasn’t even looking at the statue anymore. She was looking at Margaery.

The way _Margaery’s_ neck was arched while she observed the sculpture. The line of _her_ jaw, slightly contracted, and her so inviting lips, at that moment not curved into a smirk. She was biting them lightly as she paid attention to what was being said, and there was a small crease between her eyebrows as she was concentrated.

And her prominent collarbone, and the unblemished skin of her chest. Sansa's eyes followed it, stopping on the upper curves of her breasts that were made visible by the neckline she _always_ wore.

And her scent. Her fresh fragrance, the one Sansa enjoyed so much, all of the sudden seemed to intoxicate her.

She pulled Margaery by the hand, away from the guide and the other people.

“What?” Margaery’s tone sounded almost scared.

“I want you,” Sansa whispered.

Margaery’s eyes widened and she turned her head sideways. “What?” She said through her teeth, almost as if she was angry.

“I want you,” she repeated. “Now.”

-

Margaery's lips were on hers the moment the door of her apartment was shut. One of her hands on the back of Sansa's neck and the other squeezing her hip, she pressed her firmly against the front door with absolutely no space between their bodies. Margaery licked her way into her mouth, their tongues sliding against each other in that delicious way Sansa was already used to it - a way that didn't feel quite enough anymore. And Margaery seemed to think the same way, moving her lips from Sansa's mouth, placing light kisses to her jaw, gently pulling her earlobe between her teeth, before reaching her neck. She sought her pulse with her lips, sucking on the skin once she found it, making Sansa gasp and tighten her hold on Margaery's waist. She continued her skillful touches while slipping her hands inside Sansa's shirt - tracing her nails along her stomach lightly and making her shiver.

She pulled back then. She threw her purse on the floor, and Sansa did the same. Sansa's breath was labored, her hands trembling with anticipation. And then Margaery took one of them, guiding Sansa to the bedroom, and - Gods. She knew for a fact she had never been more excited in her life.

When they got there, Margaery turned to her but did not kiss her again; instead, she helped Sansa take off her sweater. And then unzipped the redhead’s pants, and Sansa quivered with the mere closeness of Margaery's hand to that part of her body.

Then her pants were off, but before Margaery could reach her bra, Sansa grabbed her wrists to stop her. Margaery looked puzzled, before smiling when Sansa moved her hands to Margaery’s shoulder. Her girlfriend nodded, and Sansa pushed her jacked off. Then, Sansa tugged at Margaery's dress, wanting, no, needing to see more of her, before eagerly pulling it over her head; and then stopping for a second just to appreciate it.

Her underwear consisted of matching black lace bra and panties and, even though that was something Sansa herself - and pretty much everyone else in the world - would only wear very rarely, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was something Margaery just wore daily. Or it was probably just the fact that every time she’d imagined Margaery half-naked (somewhat of a frequent thought in the past few days), that's what she would be wearing. Perhaps.

Sansa’s eyes inspected her girlfriend’s form, the shape of her breasts and the curve of her waist and - oh, Gods. Sansa held a breath when her sight caught the tattoo she had not known Margaery had until now. It was a sketch style rose, on the lower left of her abdomen, right next to her hip bone. Half of the rose’s stem was hidden under Margaery’s panties but the vision Sansa had was alone the sexiest thing she would have imagined.

But then all thoughts were cut when Sansa realized Margaery was unhooking and then sliding her bra off. And then she lost it when Margaery placed a kiss at the skin between her breasts while kneading both of them with just the right amount of gentle and firmness. Before losing it again when she felt lips closing around one of her nipples, pulling and sucking, and Sansa's head fell back as a silent moan left her lips. Sansa’s hands seized her blonde hair, and Margaery slowly moved to the other breast, licking the skin between the two of them and then repeating her whole process. Sansa could so clearly feel her own wetness, feeling almost uncomfortable when pressing her things together; she didn't think it was possible to be more turned on than she was at that moment.

Even with her attention still on Sansa's breasts, Margaery guided her backward until Sansa had to sit on the bed. And ever so gently pushed her to lie on it, taking a step back to give her a moment. Sansa lied her head on the pillow, looking up at Margaery expectantly. Who was looking back at her with a heated gaze, and Sansa felt so flattered that she was at the ending of that. Margaery Tyrell wanted her, wanted to touch and be touched by her. That breathtaking woman was looking at her with eyes full of desire and that alone was enough to leave her dripping even more.

Margaery finally came to bed, straddling Sansa, meeting her lips in a deep, searing kiss before making her way down Sansa's body. Her motions were much less careful - did not spend too much time on her neck or breasts, but instead placed wet and just lingering enough kisses along her stomach until reaching the top of her underwear.

She kneeled and slipped Sansa's panties off so slowly, her fingers grazing the skin of her legs in a way that made Sansa squirm. Everything Margaery did was sexy, every single thing increased her wetness in a way she was not used to, but fuck, she welcomed it, so very much.

Margaery lied on her stomach, her legs off the bed, face inches from Sansa's core. She kissed her inner thighs, hands squeezing them; Sansa didn't think she could take it anymore. Margaery then brushed two fingers over her slit, almost as if she was lubricating them, and brought them to her mouth; Sansa just couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing.

"Sweetling..." Margaery said simply, looking up at Sansa before urging forward, licking all the way from her opening to her clit.

Sansa's head fell back at the pillow, biting her lip at the touch of Margaery's tongue and lips. Margaery kissed every part of her and then filled her opening, two fingertips circling her clit; after a while, she reversed the action, lips wrapping around Sansa’s swollen nub while the same two fingers went inside of Sansa, curling and sliding in and out of her.

Sansa wanted to pay attention to it. She wanted to focus on what Margaery was doing, so when it was her turn she would know what to do. But it was so hard not to lose herself on how Margaery was making her feel. It had never been like that before, she knew for a fact. None of the other times she'd had sex, none of her own touches, never.

_Fuck, I'm never gonna get tired of this._

She was feeling so hot, Margaery's mouth was burning her, her eyes rolling back and her hips bucking towards her.

It didn't take very long, really. Margaery kept sucking on her clit and hummed, whispering against her, “Are you going to come in my mouth, honey?” And three seconds later Sansa was coming, her hands so tight in Margaery's hair and a long cry leaving her mouth.

Everything was dizzy, good dizzy, and when she opened her eyes they didn't focus on anything in particular. A small smile made its way to her lips, and she felt like laughing, even if she didn't think she had the energy for it. Slowly, she started to come back from her high and turned to her right side to look at Margaery, who was now lying next to her, looking just like the cat that ate the canary.

Blue eyes moved from Margaery’s face to her chest that was heaving up and down with her breathing; she could see her nipples were hard through the thin fabric of her bra. The skin on her stomach seemed so smooth.

Sansa wanted to do whatever she could to Margaery.

In a swift motion, Sansa was lying on top of her, slipping her knee between Margaery legs, their breasts pressed against the other. Margaery seemed surprised, but before she could say anything Sansa attacked her mouth with her own, her tongue sliding into the older woman’s mouth, sucking at her tongue and feeling her moan lowly. Sansa nipped Margaery’s bottom lip, licked and sucked on it, before finally moving down to taste the rest of Margaery’s skin. She left wet kisses on her jaw, on her collarbone, spent her time on her neck, attached her lips to the side of it, nibbling and sucking lightly. Sansa licked Margaery’s throat at the same time her right hand came up to grab a handful of blonde hair, pulling it slightly to give her mouth more space.

In the back of her mind, Sansa wondered where all of that was coming from. She had never touched anyone the way she was touching Margaery at that moment. But she had never wanted anyone the way she wanted Margaery too, so it made sense. She wasn’t expecting to be so straightforward right away though, so she could only be thankful.

Margaery opened her legs under Sansa, wrapping them around her waist, a moan escaping her lips when Sansa sucked at the skin below her ear. One of her hands buried in Sansa’s hair, the other on her back, pulling the redhead impossibly closer while her nails were digging in Sansa’s skin.

Sansa loved the way Margaery’s skin tasted. She loved the little sounds she was making, she loved the feeling of Margaery’s hands on her while she didn’t have the control. Sansa didn’t want to ever stop, but she wanted more.

Sansa pulled away abruptly, taking her hands off of Margaery. Supporting herself on her elbows, Sansa gazed at her girlfriend - her lips were so swollen, the skin on her neck a little reddened, a strong blush on her cheeks. Her hair was spread around the pillow in golden curls and her eyes were glowing; she was so gorgeous and Sansa couldn’t believe she had her.

Sansa sat up and held Margaery’s face in her hands for a moment before finally focusing on where she wanted the most - for now. She kneaded Margaery’s breasts over her bra, watching with fascination how Margaery’s eyes closed when she did it. Not bothering to untie it, Sansa pushed Margaery’s bra up, making her girlfriend, still with her eyes shut, sit up a bit so Sansa could take it off.

Margaery’s breasts were around the same size as Sansa’s. When she touched them again, she marveled at the way Margaery’s hard nipples felt against her palm. She squeezed them, circled her nipples with her thumb, and, finally, bent down and took one of them in her mouth.

Her girlfriend’s reaction was immediate, both hands holding Sansa’s head while her back arched and a gasp fell from her lips. Sansa sucked at her right nipple, bit as lightly as she could, kissed, and then lapped at it. And then she repeated it, before moving to the other breast. She was recalling and trying out the movements Margaery had used on her before, whilst following her own instincts on what to do.

And it worked very well if the sounds that Margaery was making and how her hips were bucking at her meant anything.

When Sansa realized she had only stopped giving attention to Margaery’s breasts when Margaery herself had to force Sansa’s head downwards, she started to wonder if she was getting addicted to the older woman’s body.

She planted a line of opened mouth kisses on the rest of Margaery’s torso, starting from her ribs, to her stomach - it was as smooth as Sansa had thought it was - until she reached the top of Margaery’s panties as she sucked on the skin of her tattoo.

Sansa could hear her heart pounding in her ears when she backed up and kneeled between her girlfriend’s legs, already opened for her.

 _Okay, it hasn’t been that hard so far_.

She had done everything right until now, it seemed like it, but she knew this would be the trickiest part. Taking a deep breath, she stroked Margaery’s thighs. Her hands were shaking.

Margaery noticed it and held them, her thumbs brushing Sansa’s knuckles while she gave a lovely smile. “Don’t worry, honey. You can’t do no wrong here.”

Sansa gave a shaky smile and closed her eyes for a moment. She opened them back up and started to take Margaery’s panties off.

As soon as they were gone, she used her hands to open Margaery’s legs a little further and stared at her core. She had never seen one in that angle, and the pink flesh was glistening in front of her. Sansa’s mouth watered.

Not wanting to spend much time thinking, Sansa moved swiftly, laying the same way Margaery had before, her face inches from where she knew her girlfriend wanted her the most. She heard Margaery breathing just a bit louder in anticipation, her hands immediately coming to rest on Sansa’s head, not pushing, just touching her. It took Sansa a second to close the distance how they both wanted her to, and she pressed a kiss to her Margaery’s slit.

Margaery gasped, and Sansa's tongue trailed along her, tasting her for the first time. She felt some kind of panic when she couldn't recall what Margaery had done to her before but quickly decided to settle on following her instincts again and letting her tongue delve on its own accord - at first.

Her tongue probed her for a little while, and she felt amused when Margaery hold tightened in her hair, and moved downwards to Margaery’s entrance, pressing into her and whimpering at what was completely different from anything Sansa had ever felt or tasted.

Margaery pushed her head closer, and moaned her name, making Sansa’s ears prick. Sansa scratched Margaery’s thighs and removed her tongue from inside of her. She kissed her again, her folds and the skin around it, and Margaery’s other hand came to her, holding her face and forcing Sansa’s head to move up.

“Here.” Her voice was so husky and Sansa loved it.

Sansa pulled away just a bit, exhaling from her mouth and making Margaery’s hips buck at the feeling of her hot breath against her. Sansa pressed her tongue against Margaery’s clit, licking it, making Margaery groan. Again, Sansa tried very hard to remember exactly what Margaery had done to make her lose her mind, and sucked firmly at her nub.

“Fuck!” Margaery moaned loudly, and Sansa heard the sound of her head falling against the pillow.

She unconsciously dug her nails hard into the skin of Margaery’s thighs, at the same time she flicked her tongue faster and faster over her clit. Margaery moaned her name loudly again, causing Sansa herself to moan against her, which made Margaery’s hips jerk.

Sansa was pretty sure it took Margaery longer to climax than it did her, and her jaw and tongue were getting sorer and sorer, but once she reached it Sansa felt a completely different wave of pleasure take over her body at the sound of her girlfriend coming.

She rested her head on Margaery’s thigh, gazing at the movement of her chest while she tried to get her breathing back to normal.

Finally, Margaery ordered weakly, “Come up here.”

Sansa obliged, laying on top of her body, staring at her eyes.

Margaery crossed her arms around Sansa. “You were so, so incredibly deliciously good.” She chucked, and a teasing smile took over her face. “You forgot to use your fingers, though, love.” 

Then her smile vanished from her face the moment Sansa’s clumsy fingers slid inside of her, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open with her not expecting it. Even Sansa was surprised at her own action, the way she had penetrated Margaery automatically once the thought crossed her mind.

It was slow, and it lasted much longer than what she had done before, the way she stroked and moved her hand as best as she could. At some point, Margaery took hold of Sansa's wrist and maneuvered it so Sansa could press her thumb against her clit while taking her, which made Sansa’s movements a bit more awkward once again before she could find her coordination.

Like that, Sansa had the glorious privilege of looking at Margaery’s face while she gradually let go. Their foreheads were pressed against one another, their breathings mixed until Margaery finally came a second time after what it felt like the most delightful eternity.

Sansa dropped her head against Margaery’s shoulder and they stayed like that for a few minutes before Margaery moved her arm to check the watch she was still wearing.

“Good, it’s still early.”

“What?” Sansa raised her head to look at her.

Margaery pressed a quick kiss to Sansa’s lips. “I still have things to do.”

When a swift movement made her roll onto her back so Margaery could be on top of her again, Sansa understood what her girlfriend meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a visual for Margaery's [tattoo](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bmjdfkwnv2q/?igshid=1grs4x9deanqq) (like that only a lot smaller).
> 
> Comments and kudos if you liked it?
> 
> My tumblr in case you wanna talk about Sansaery: @bachianinhaone


End file.
